


(you've been bitten by) someone who's hungrier than you

by shirohyasha



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Blood Drinking, Catholic Guilt, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, PWP, Vampire AU, all the good shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-01-16 00:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21262490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirohyasha/pseuds/shirohyasha
Summary: He’s in his best clothes and he still feels cheaply dressed in this room. Tokiya and Ren are eyeing him like he’s prey or perhaps a piece of meat that’s already been cut. He’s not sure he’s leaving this place alive but some small part of him whispers that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, to die at the hands of two such creatures.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> miku voice happy happy halloween
> 
> !!WARNINGS!! this is fairly dubcon. it's clear all the way through that masato is GAGGING for it but he argues back a lot bc he cannot help but fight w ren and also he's too proud to just roll over and take it. so just. if ur sensitive to that do not read this!!!  
also there are a couple of lines that reference internalised homophobia on masato's part. they're brief but they are in there.

Masato stares up at the castle, trying not to give into the sense of foreboding it inspires. It’s huge. It towers taller than any building he’s ever seen, and although he’s seen it from a distance (of course he has) up close, it’s terrifying.

He picks his way through the overgrown garden to the absurdly huge door and lifts the knocker. Of course, it’s almost too heavy for him to lift, and he has to struggle to knock. The noise it lets out is immense, a thundering crash that echoes in the quiet. Masato cringes at the sound.

The door swings open slowly, silently. Masato peers into the dark but even the dim light outside is too bright to see the interior, so he steels himself and steps inside.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust. The entry hall towers above him, further than the eye can see. There are a few candles scattered sparingly along the hall, weakly lighting the place. He looks around and sees nobody, takes a few steps into the hall and though he jumps nearly a foot in the air when the door slams shut behind him, he can’t bring himself to be surprised.

“Good evening,” he says into the gloom. “I am here, as was requested.”

“Good evening,” something says in response. “Thank you for your attendance.”

Masato turns to see a man in his fifties bowing to him politely. He returns the bow and straightens up, not sure whether this man’s presence puts him at ease or not.

“Young Master Hijirikawa,” the man says. “Please address me as George. I am the butler.”

“It’s nice to meet you, George,” Masato says cautiously. A smile flickers on George’s face, gone before it’s there.

“Likewise. The masters are in the drawing room. If you would permit me to take your coat, I can take you to them.” George holds out his hands, and Masato rather reluctantly unwinds his cloak from around himself and hands it over. The entry hall is not warm.

George secures the cloak in his arms and turns smartly. “If the Young Master would follow me.”

The invitation had arrived three days ago on expensive cream parchment, delivered by a man on horseback. He hadn’t accepted money for the delivery.

Masato follows George through the castle. It’s all stone corridors and tall, glassless windows, looking out over the cold nightscape. The countryside rolls away from them, shadowed forests and deep valleys. The moon is perfectly round, brilliantly cold in the starry sky. Their footsteps are very loud in the silence.

They walk for what Masato is sure is only a minute or two, but the nerves in his stomach chew the time out into some other shape. George knocks on a door that Masato can see has light glowing through the cracks at the edges.

“Enter,” a voice calls, smooth and familiar and warm. George opens the door, already bowing.

“Lord Jinguji, Lord Ichinose. Young Master Hijirikawa has arrived.”

One of them is sprawled in an armchair, legs dangerously wide, chin propped on a fist. The other is sat primly on an overstuffed sofa, neat and proper. Masato has seen both of them before but it’s hard to think where.

“Thank you, George,” the one on the sofa says. “You are excused.”

“Lord Ichinose,” George says. “I will return to my duties.”

The door shuts behind Masato. He bows, tries to pretend he’s fine.

“Thank you for your gracious invitation, Lord Jinguji, Lord Ichinose,” he says.

“Ma-sa-to,” one of them sounds out. He thinks it’s Lord Jinguji, but he’s not sure. Both of their voices have a certain lulling quality, like they're on the verge of breaking into song. “Please, come in. Sit.”

Masato sits carefully on one of the armchairs. There are curtains and tapestries on the walls. The fire is bright, crackling merrily next to a pile of logs. The chair Masato is in is absurdly comfortable. It is a warm, homely room – lush and elegant and very, very wealthy, but comfortable nonetheless. It is nothing like the rest of the castle that he has seen, which is cold and austere and terrifying.

“Where are our manners?” the one George had addressed as Lord Ichinose says. “Please call me Tokiya. This is Ren. May we call you Masato?”

“Of course you may,” Masato manages to stutter out. Tokiya’s eyes are brilliant grey in the firelight. A thrill shivers up his spine when he meets them – something like fear, something like something else. Masato’s mouth is dry.

The other laughs from his comfortable sprawl. “Nervous, Masato?” he asks. “What do you think you’re here for?”

Something about his tone irritates Masato enough that he’s snatched from his daze. “I couldn’t possibly say,” he says, very very careful with his tone. He doesn’t know what they'll do to him if he’s rude, but he knows that his father will beat the life out of him if he angers the lords.

Ren just laughs. “I suppose we didn’t give you much information,” he says.

“You didn’t tell me anything at all,” Masato’s mouth says before he can stop it. “My Lord.”

Tokiya hums. “Didn’t I just tell you to call him Ren?” he asks. His voice is lightly amused.

“My apologies,” Masato says. “It seems presumptuous of me.”

He shivers at Tokiya’s smile. “I see,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll become familiar enough that you won’t mind. Masato.”

He says Masato’s name like he’s making a point or maybe like he’s tasting it, like he can taste Masato in it. It’s obscene. Masato tries not to shudder.

“We invited you for dinner,” Tokiya says.

Ren laughs like a cat’s purr. Masato has never seen a wolf before but he’s seen the aftermath of their work and Ren’s laugh is somehow worse than that. Ren is something that plays with its food.

“I see,” Masato says, though of course he doesn’t. “That was very gracious of you.”

He’s in his best clothes and he still feels cheaply dressed in this room. Tokiya and Ren are eyeing him like he’s prey or perhaps a piece of meat that’s already been cut. He’s not sure he’s leaving this place alive but some small part of him whispers that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, to die at the hands of two such creatures.

He doesn’t even think it’s a thought that has been forced into his head, he thinks it’s his own, he’s thought things before that have left him ashamed of himself but he’s too dizzy to get his thoughts in order.

The fire flickers. Ren lazily leans over to push another log into the hearth and Masato watches the muscles of his arm bunch and relax effortlessly. His shirt is open, his sleeves short despite the cold weather outside.

Tokiya is watching him, amused, and Masato refuses to meet his eyes or Ren’s when he turns back.

“May I ask a question of you?” he asks, staring at a point between the two of them.

“But of course,” Ren drawls. “What could you want from us?”

“Why have I been invited here?” he asks.

“For dinner,” Ren says, amused. “Didn’t you hear Tokiya?”

“Why me specifically?” Masato asks. “We have never met before. I am flattered by the invitation, but I am curious as to why I have been singled out.”

He’s trying to be polite. Something about Ren sets his teeth on edge. The casual irreverence perhaps, how he sprawls in his chair rather than sits. How Masato so badly wants to – he’s not sure. He doesn’t really know what he wants.

Tokiya hums. “Why you?” he asks.

“If it would please you to answer,” Masato says. “I would like to know.”

Ren grins at him, and for a moment it looks like his teeth are glistening. “You’re an interesting man,” he says. “And we’re more involved in the town than you might think. We were curious about you.”

“I see,” Masato says, though he definitely doesn’t.

Tokiya smiles at him. His face is no less pleasing to the eye than Ren’s is but it doesn’t set Masato on edge in quite the same way. He doesn’t have the same urge to – he’s not sure. Draw a sword, perhaps, or simply cut straight to throwing punches. He’s under no impression that he could win a fight against Ren, but something about his face makes him want to try.

“I would be impressed if you did,” Tokiya says. “But I’m sure it’ll become clear to you.”

There’s a knock on the door before Masato has to figure out how to answer that.

George enters and bows at Ren’s call. “Lord Jinguji, Lord Ichinose, Young Master Hijirikawa. Dinner will be served in the second dining hall.”

“Thank you, George,” Tokiya says. “We will be there presently.”

George leaves and Tokiya stands up. “Come,” he says. “I hope dinner will be to your liking.”

Masato follows him out of the room, and Ren brings up the rear. He doesn’t see anyone else on the walk to the dining hall – the second dining hall. From the outside, the castle had seemed almost endlessly huge. He wonders how many rooms it has, how can it all possibly be maintained.

The corridors are cold and he shivers as they pass numerous open windows. The sky is still as clear as can be, lit with stars and the cold moon. If Masato squints, he can see the shadowy outline of the village in the distance.

“You’re cold,” Ren says, like he’s surprised. His sleeves are short – an unusual fashion, not one Masato has ever seen before – but he’s still surprised. “Ah, I do apologise. We’re both accustomed to lower temperatures.”

“The dining hall should be warmer,” Tokiya assures him. “I’ll ask someone to fetch you a housecoat to wear inside.”

“Thank you,” Masato says. His teeth are chattering. Neither Tokiya nor Ren seem affected.

“Come, hurry,” Tokiya says. “The dining hall will be warm.”

He makes to take Masato’s arm, as if to urge him forwards, and Masato flinches when his hand makes contact. His hand is freezing, almost colder than the air around them.

“Lord Ichinose has cold hands, does he not?” Ren asks. He sounds amused again but it’s less easy than before, like he’s warning Masato not to say anything.

“Unusually so,” Masato says, despite himself. “I too run cold.”

Ren laughs. “The two of you do seem rather similar,” he says. “I wonder exactly how similar you are.”

“Ren,” Tokiya sighs. Masato’s brain is stuttering over Ren’s laughter, how filthy he had made the innocent comparison seem.

Tokiya opens a door and gestures for Ren to go in first. He follows Masato in, shutting the door behind him. “Please,” Ren says, tugging out a chair for Masato. “Have a seat.”

Masato sits, and Ren sits next to him, at the head of the table. He puts his chin in his hands and leans in to smile lazily at Masato, who tries not to look irritated at his poor table manners.

Ren grins at him like he can read his thoughts, and gestures at the room. There is a fire in a hearth set into the wall furthest from them, and the room is pleasantly warm. “This is the dining room we use to receive guests we actually want here,” he confides. “It’s much more pleasant than the larger one.”

“Warmer,” Tokiya says. “Masato. Are you warm enough now?”

“I am, thank you,” Masato says.

Tokiya takes a seat and turns to Ren, sighing. “Sit properly. Your manners are dreadful.”

Ren turns to Masato, grinning. “I said you were similar.”

Tokiya shakes his head. “Honestly, Ren. You gossip like a courtier.”

“I just think that you are,” Ren says innocently. “Masato was just disapproving of my table manners too, but he’s far too polite to say anything.”

“Stop trying to annoy him,” Tokiya says. “I do apologise for his behaviour.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to act in your own home,” Masato says quickly. “How Lord Jinguji wishes to act is not my concern.”

Ren looks at him, very amused. “So proper,” he says.

A girl in a long black dress with a white apron on enters silently, and fills their wineglasses. She leaves as quietly as she had entered. Neither Tokiya nor Ren acknowledge her.

Masato picks up his wineglass. The wine is bitter and heavy, full and rich. He can feel it sitting in stomach, going straight to his head.

“Perhaps wait,” Ren says. “This wine is particularly potent.”

“I do not drink often,” Masato confesses.

He hears Ren mumble something. It could have been “Too easy,” but Masato’s not sure.

Tokiya smiles at him. “The wine was chosen for the meal,” he says.

The girl is in the room again. Masato is starting to think that all the doors in this place are far too well oiled. She places a small plate down in front of him, and then one in front of Tokiya, before moving around to Ren. There’s a calculated grace to her movements, not as effortless as Tokiya or Ren are, but practised and well-worn.

“Thank you, Erika,” Ren says. She bows to him and leaves silently.

The food is extremely good. It’s better than anything Masato has eaten since his mother had died. Ren and Tokiya pick at their meals delicately. Masato is educated in etiquette, yes, but not when dining with nobility and not when dining with… these two.

Ren’s mouth is all pink curves and white teeth. Masato tries not to watch him drink his wine, tries not to watch Tokiya’s graceful hands on his cutlery. For the most part, he succeeds.

“Is the food to your liking?” Tokiya asks him. He’s taken a few mouthfuls of his food and doesn’t look to be taking any more.

“It is excellent,” Masato says honestly. “Your kitchen is fantastic.”

“That’s good to hear,” Tokiya says. Masato pretends not to see Ren grinning like he’s in on some joke that he will not be sharing.

The plates are whisked away. Masato takes another sip of the wine. It tastes better now that he’s eaten something, doesn’t rush to his head quite so fast.

Another plate is put in front of him, and another, and another. All of them are excellent, and Ren and Tokiya just pick at them delicately. Ren takes a mouthful of the bloody steak at one point, and Masato watches with sick fascination. His steak is much, much rarer than Masato’s had been served.

Dessert is honey-glazed plums, roasted until they were soft and sweet and delicious. Masato has never eaten anything like them. He finishes his bowl eagerly, tries not to watch with disappointment as Ren and Tokiya barely touch theirs.

“Are my Lords not hungry?” Masato asks. He’s trying for sincere. “Perhaps something else would have suited your tastes.”

“You might say that,” Ren murmurs. “Did you enjoy the plums?”

“I have never had anything like them,” Masato says.

Tokiya rises, and takes his bowl with him. “Perhaps we can retire to another room?” he asks. “Would you like some more wine, Masato?”

Masato shakes his head. He’s – tipsy, he supposes. He’s drunk two full glasses of the stuff and it _was _potent, he can feel it sloshing around his brain.

Ren picks his wineglass off the table and offers Masato his arm. Masato is tipsy enough to take it. Tokiya traps the neck of the wine bottle between his index and middle fingers, balances his bowl of plums in the same hand, and tucks his hand into Ren’s elbow. Ren’s arm is cold beneath Masato’s hand. They lead him out of the second dining hall, the smaller nicer warmer one, apparently, and through the maze of corridors. The corridors are even colder now than they had been earlier, but he’s warm with wine and food.

He doesn’t say anything on the walk. He has the sensation of a lamb being lead to slaughter, but he’s tipsy and full and warm. Perhaps he will be ruined after this, but perhaps it will be worth it.

They lead him into another room, similar to the room they had received him in but smaller still. A fire crackles in the hearth and there are sofas and armchairs arranged casually around it. Tokiya sits him in the centre of one such sofa and settles beside him, holding his bowl of roasted plums in his lap. Ren sprawls next to him, cold but not so unbearably sat next to the fire.

“Open your mouth,” Tokiya says. His voice is cool, certain. Masato is going to open his mouth, Masato would open his mouth if Tokiya were holding a knife to his lips ready to drive through the soft roof of his mouth into his brain.

Masato parts his lips. Tokiya holds up a spoonful of the plums and cups Masato’s chin, feather-light, to guide them to his mouth.

Ren leans in around him, wraps an arm around his waist and draws Masato back against his chest, shifts him so his legs are spread enough that Tokiya can sit between them.

Tokiya leans forwards and feeds him another spoonful, and another. Ren drinks his wine with his free hand.

“Your heart’s fluttering like a bird’s wings,” Ren says against his hair. “Are you afraid, Masato?”

“Yes,” Masato gasps. He can’t help himself.

“Are you aroused, Masato?” Tokiya murmurs. He should know the answer. He’s half in Masato’s lap. He could feel the answer to his question, even if he couldn’t smell it.

“Yes,” Masato says. He tries to summon shame, can’t find it. They want him. They want him, his body and more.

“Are you going to kill me?” he manages. Tokiya sets the bowl on a low table and Masato doesn’t attempt to move from where he’s pinned to Ren.

“We might,” Tokiya says. He takes Masato’s hand, presses his nose to the inside of his wrist. The skin there has never felt so thin.

“You do smell divine,” he breathes. “We could glut ourselves on you,” he says. “Drain you dry.”

“Icchi,” Ren says, almost scolding. “Don’t scare him. He likes it.”

Masato’s cheeks burn. “You!”

“Oh?” Ren says. “Are you going to deny it?”

He’s not. He can’t. They can smell it on him, fear and arousal and adrenaline.

Ren’s mouth presses up the side of his neck, teeth sharp against him.

“You’re entertaining,” Ren says. “A much brighter person than we expected to find in such a dull town.”

“Would you like it if we had you?” Tokiya asks. “We could ruin you.”

Masato pants for breath. Tokiya presses his teeth to the fragile skin of his wrist. He wants it, he wants it so badly.

“What will you do if I fight?” he asks.

Ren laughs, amused. “What will we do?” he asks. “We would do almost the same thing as if you didn’t fight.”

Tokiya says, “We might spare you, little human.”

Masato squeezes his eyes shut. “Then it doesn’t matter what I say,” he says. “Not if I can’t stop you.”

He tips his head back and bares his throat. Ren’s teeth on his neck shift forwards, close on the jut at the base of his throat. They don’t break skin.

“How to do this?” Tokiya murmurs.

“So tempting,” Ren purrs. “We should have him now.”

“Yes,” Tokiya says. “We really should.”

Ren bites at his throat. His teeth are so sharp that they feel like they should be going straight through his skin but he doesn’t bleed. Tokiya leans in and kisses him, presses his mouth carefully to Masato’s. He tastes like wine and honey when he teases Masato’s lips open, licks into his mouth. Ren worries what will definitely be a bruise into his skin, an ache at the base of his throat.

“I want to taste him,” Tokiya says, half into Masato’s mouth. “Tell me, Masato. Are you a virgin?”

Masato manages a weak glare. Ren’s hand is low on his stomach and though Masato can’t see his face he’s amused, he’s sure. “Is that any of your concern?” he asks.

Tokiya slams him backwards so fast he doesn’t see it happen, only feels the pain of being slammed back into Ren a second after it happened. “Don’t talk back,” he says. His teeth are so sharp against Masato’s lips. “You will answer.”

“Oh, Icchi,” Ren murmurs. “So jealous. Of course he’s a virgin. Look at him, shivering and shaking. He’s as pure as they come.”

“Your manners are appalling,” Masato snaps, before he can help himself. Ren laughs, delighted.

“Don’t worry, little virgin. We’ll relieve you of that soon enough,” Ren says. Masato feels himself burning with humiliation – he’s never been touched, could never work up the courage to touch himself. He doesn’t know what he’ll like, doesn’t know what awful things these two are going to learn about him before he even learns himself.

“Don’t fear it,” Tokiya murmurs, breath oddly hot against his cheek. “If you’ve never done this before, we won’t hurt you. No matter what Ren threatens.”

“Don’t you want to hear him squeal?” Ren asks. Masato shakes in his arms, perfectly trapped, more aroused than he’s ever been. “I think we could make him cry.”

Tokiya laughs, and for the first time this evening it’s an unkind sound. “I think you could make anyone cry, Ren,” he says. “I want to hear him sing.”

He swings his legs over Masato’s lap, straddles him fully. Ren twists beneath him, around him, so he’s bracketed between them. They’re cold but the fire is hot and his blood is burning.

“I wonder,” Tokiya murmurs, undoes Masato’s jacket and waistcoat, tugs his shirt loose. “I want to absolutely ruin you.”

Masato’s throat works. He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, knows he’s terrified, knows he wants them to take him apart. Ren’s hands are cool on his stomach, having slipped beneath his loose shirt.

“Sensitive,” he murmurs. “You don’t touch yourself much, do you?”

Touching himself had led to thoughts about being held down, the flex of the muscles of the farmhand’s arms, the broad back of the blacksmith’s son. He had been too ashamed to finish every time. He’s not going to confess that to them though, not if they don’t force it from him.

Ren’s fingers work against his nipple, pinching hard enough to be painful. Tokiya scratches down his stomach, underneath his shirt. He’s almost too hot now, despite being sandwiched between two cold bodies, and his clothes have never felt so restrictive. He twitches, tries not to writhe.

“Ren, can you – yes,” Tokiya says, as Ren pushes him forward. Tokiya pulls his jacket free, the vest he’d had on underneath it, his shirt over his head. Masato is left shirtless, can’t help but cringe away from their eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful,” Tokiya murmurs. “So very pretty like this.”

Ren’s arm settles across his stomach like an iron bar, pinning his arms in place too. He’s not in Ren’s lap, not exactly, but Ren has his legs spread wide enough that he’s pressed up against Masato’s back. Masato can’t move Ren’s arm at all.

“What are you going to do to me?” Masato whispers. His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming already.

Ren kisses the side of his neck, bites at it lightly. “I think Icchi wants to get on his knees. He likes it down there.”

Tokiya smiles and the hairs on the back of Masato’s neck rise.

“Well?” Ren asks. His voice drips smug amusement. “Are you going to terrify poor Masato some more, or are you going to get on your knees?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Masato lies. “You can do what you want to me. I won’t fear you.”

Tokiya laughs, gently. “I don’t think you’re that unintelligent,” he says. “I think you know better than that.”

He sinks to his knees fluidly, tugs at strings and buttons and buckles until Masato has been stripped naked, is completely exposed. He shivers.

Tokiya draws butterfly-light patterns into the insides of his thighs, pressing them gently wider until they’re spread around his shoulders. He does it so gently that Masato is barely aware he’s being coaxed, is only aware of Tokiya’s eyes like two burning coals, his fingertips pressing against delicate skin. Masato has never felt so adored, trapped beneath a creature of death.

Tokiya wraps his mouth around the head of Masato’s cock. His mouth is cool but not cold, not like his hand had been earlier. He tightens his lips, brings his hands in to wrap around his cock, licks at the tip of his cock. It’s bizarre, it’s so weird, but Masato has never seen anything nearly so obscene. He bites at his lips helplessly, straining against Ren’s arms uselessly. Ren places a palm against the top of his sternum and he can’t even curl in on himself.

Tokiya takes more and more of him into his mouth, until Masato is panting and gasping, shuddering against Ren’s arms.

“How does he taste, Tokiya?” Ren murmurs. “Is it as good as he smells?”

Tokiya pulls back so slowly that Masato tries to writhe up into it, much to his humiliation. Tokiya grins, eyes gleaming.

“You’ll find out, I’m sure,” he says, and licks his lips. He puts his mouth back on Masato, swallows around the head of his cock, presses a finger to a something that makes him whine.

“What?” Masato gasps. “Don’t –”

He tries to squirm away but Ren holds him firmly in place. Tokiya pulls back, doesn’t move his finger.

“Does it feel bad, Masato?” he asks. He circles his finger, presses it in a little harder before relaxing a little. Masato sucks in a breath through his teeth. It feels like sparks being fired up his spine, makes all the muscles in his legs strain involuntarily, makes him want to arch back into it and fuck himself on Tokiya’s mouth and fingers until, until, until -

Tokiya rolls his tongue under the head of his cock again, strokes the nerves behind his cock in time with it. Something crests within him, draws him like a bowstring and he arches, shaking, coming. He bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds and immediately both of their mouths are on his, fighting to kiss him hungrily. A tongue presses to his lips, and Ren is vicious but Tokiya has the better angle, kisses the blood from his mouth, forces his tongue into the cut he’d created and drags more out. It stings and Masato hisses, and Ren shoves Tokiya back and catches his chin in his hand, forcing his mouth open.

He leans in to kiss Tokiya, or maybe it’s more like he’s trying to eat him. He forces his tongue into Tokiya’s mouth, licking the remnants of blood and come from his palate.

“Oh,” Ren sighs, pulling back a little. Masato is still trapped effortlessly in one arm, like an afterthought. “You taste better than you smell.”

He digs his fingers into Tokiya’s face. “I want a turn,” he says.

Tokiya pries his fingers off of him and brushes himself off primly. “I think we should move,” he says. “Poor fragile Masato is cold here, even with the fire.”

Masato hadn’t even noticed but now that Tokiya says it he realises there are goosebumps on his arms and legs, that he’s shivering with more than fear.

Ren relaxes his arms, enough that Masato can move a little.

“So, Masato,” he asks. His voice is low, rich and warm and hypnotic, against the back of Masato’s throat. “Will you follow us to bed, or would you like to keep pretending you’re being forced?”

Masato swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I’m not fooling either of you. But I don’t think I can follow.”

Tokiya brushes a knuckle over his cheek. “That’s alright,” he coos, soft. “We don’t mind forcing you further.”

“There are a lot of things we could do with you,” Ren murmurs. “What would you like, Masato? Would you like my mouth on you this time? I know a couple of different tricks to Icchi, but I think you’ll like them too.”

“Greedy,” Tokiya murmurs. “You think we can move so fast?”

“I think,” Ren says, deliberate. “That Masato is not so easily cowed.”

“You won’t bait me into it,” Masato tells them. His head is strangely fogged, his limbs warm and heavy. He feels remarkably pleasant.

“You’re not being baited,” Tokiya tells him. “We’re trying to decide if you can handle being fucked.”

It’s odd, to hear such a crude word in such a soft voice. Masato thinks he’s terrified.

“You would – you want – something like that?” he asks. Heat coils in his belly, fear and lust a sickening combination. He wants to know what it’s like to have Ren’s mouth on him, he wants Tokiya’s mouth again. He wants to know if he can do the same things to then, if he could ever reduce either of these creatures to shaking and trembling with just his mouth.

“Masato,” Ren says, low and dark and dangerous. “Close your eyes.”

Something jolts then, and Masato clamps his eyes shut obediently, and for a moment there’s a wind whipping past him, freezing against his naked skin. Ren’s arms are still locked around him but Tokiya’s body is no longer pressed to his, and Ren is not sitting but moving, and then it’s over and he clutches at Ren, gasping.

“What was that?” he asks, breathless.

“I’m getting impatient,” Ren growls. Masato looks around the room dizzily – there is a large fire roaring, and the biggest bed Masato has ever seen looms above them. Tokiya is stood behind Ren, looking as impatient as Ren sounds.

“I think,” Tokiya says, slow and deliberate. “That you should put Masato down.”

Ren does. Masato is going to have bruises where his hands were gripping, one on his knee and another on his shoulder. Masato wobbles where he stands.

“Get on the bed, Masato,” Ren says. There is something hungry in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Get on the bed and kneel.”

Masato glances shakily to Tokiya, who just raises an eyebrow. Masato backs away from the two of them, distantly embarrassed at his nakedness but more certain that one wrong move here will be deadly. He glances to the bed without turning his back on them, climbs onto it and arranges himself on his knees. The covers are plush and soft beneath him, and he sinks down into them a little. He digs his fingers into the soft, textured surface. He doesn’t look away from Ren’s face.

“Spread your legs,” Ren says. Masato shifts a little, opens his knees, can’t help but look away from the two of them. They’re staring so intently. Masato quivers.

“Tokiya,” Ren murmurs. “I think he’d like it.”

“I know he would,” Tokiya says. “But we do have to be gentle. He’s never been touched before.”

“We have to be gentle,” Ren says. His mouth curves up into a vicious smile. “We don’t have to be nice.”

Tokiya shakes his head but he’s smiling. “You’re so bloodthirsty,” he says. “For someone who prides himself on being a lover, rather than a fighter, you certainly like to be cruel.”

Ren approaches. Masato watches. Ren sits on the edge of the bed. He’d lost his shoes somewhere along the way – Masato hadn’t seen when. He doesn’t think about it. Ren approaches like something about to feed.

“Masato,” Ren says. “Turn around, and get on all fours.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Masato asks. His voice is remarkably steady.

Ren's mouth is all teeth when he smiles. "Whatever I want."

Masato stares at him. Ren stares back, unflinching. Masato has never wanted anything as much as he wants to surrender right now, wants to get on his hands and knees and let Ren do anything he wants to him.

“Are you going to force me?” Masato asks. “If I say no, will you do it anyway?”

Ren smiles. “You couldn’t stop us,” he says. “If we decided to keep you here and fuck you until you dropped dead with exhaustion, you couldn’t stop us.”

“If you really don’t want to be fucked, we won’t make you,” Tokiya says. “Would you like to know what we’ll do instead?”

Masato doesn’t answer. Tokiya smiles.

“Turn around,” he says. “And get on all fours.”

Masato turns around and puts his hands on the bedspread. He shivers, but the fire roaring nearby and the drapery lining the walls means that he’s warm enough here, even with Ren’s cold eyes on his back.

“Properly, Masato,” Ren says behind his ear. Masato flinches and spreads his knees wider, lifts his hips so they’re in the air. Blood rushes to his face. This is so humiliating. He wishes he didn’t like it so much.

“If you don’t let Ren fuck you,” Tokiya says, as Ren’s mouth presses to one of his shoulderblades. His tongue is cool, leaves damp trails down his back that burn in the warm air. “We’ll make you come again. We’ll make you come until it’s unbearable.”

“How many times do you think a person can come?” Ren asks the small of his back. “It’s different for men and women, though I suppose you don’t know that.”

“You’re young,” Tokiya muses. “I think we could wring four more out of you before it really started to hurt.”

“It can hurt?” Masato asks before he can stop himself, then curses himself for revealing exactly how inexperienced he is. He’s – he’s climaxed before. He has. A long time ago, when he was barely a teenager and couldn’t help himself. It had been nothing like the torture Tokiya had wrought upon him, forcing him to feel so good he completely lost himself.

Ren laughs. His breath is cool between Masato’s thighs. “It can hurt,” he says. “It can hurt so much. Would you like to know something else?” he asks, and then he drags his tongue over whatever it was that Tokiya pressed earlier, tongues circles into it without mercy. His hands clamp down on Masato’s hips to stop him escaping.

“Sometimes,” Ren whispers. Tokiya’s hands tangle in his hair, tugs sharply enough that it hurts. “Some people can come just from being hurt.”

He draws back and lets his hand crack down onto Masato’s rear, nervously held in the air. Masato screams just as Tokiya yanks on his hair again, lets out a choked sob.

“Oh, you liked that,” Ren says.

Masato looks up at Tokiya with teary eyes. _Stop him,_ he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat. He’s aroused again, cock hard between his legs. He _did _like that. How can he be shameless enough to ask them to stop?

“Enough, Ren,” Tokiya says. “You said you’d be gentle.”

Ren massages his behind with cool hands. “I did say that, didn’t I?” he allows. “Alright. Allow me to apologise, Masato.”

“What are you – _gg_,” Masato gasps out as Ren’s tongue presses against him again. “What?”

“Hush,” Tokiya soothes. “He won’t hurt you again, not this time.”

Masato squeezes his eyes shut and hangs his head. Ren’s tongue drags up against him, presses _into _him, licks him open. It’s odd, so odd, but Tokiya is telling the truth at least for now and it doesn’t hurt.

“That can’t be hygienic,” he pants. Ren laughs.

“I’m not susceptible to mortal sickness,” he says. “But how sweet of you to worry.”

He pushes his tongue in further, stretching him open. It still doesn’t hurt, it’s just wet and slick and gentle stretching. It’s not unpleasant, though Masato thinks that maybe it ought to be.

And then Ren digs a finger into the nerves at the base of his cock, and something lights up inside him. He gasps, shuddering.

“Isn’t he good at this?” Tokiya murmurs. “Isn’t it torture?”

Masato has barely a moment to think _oh God, he does this to Tokiya _before Ren is pressing something cooler and blunter than his tongue to him, slim enough that it still doesn’t hurt but it still feels like a violation. He’s being split open. Ren is _inside of him._

He makes some kind of a noise there, weak and strangled and helpless, and Ren laughs against him.

“Easy, delicate little thing,” he croons. “Just a fingertip and you’re ready to fall apart.”

Tokiya strokes his hair, scrapes his fingers against the nape of his neck. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”

Ren’s tongue presses against him again, writhing inside him along with his finger, bending and curling inside him. Masato bites his lower lip against a whine and Ren presses at him with another finger, slides that one into him too and it almost hurts there, almost but Ren’s fingers curl and slide against something inside of him that’s winding him tighter and tighter, until he’s ready to snap.

Ren pulls himself away from Masato, curls his fingers with deadly precision into the spot that’s making it hard not to whimper. “I’d like to make you beg for it,” Ren says, almost conversational but for how rough his voice is, how hungry. “I think I could make you cry with desperation. I think I could have you screaming with my fingers alone.”

“No,” Masato pants. “No, no, no.”

“Not now,” Ren concedes. He pulls his fingers out slowly, and Masato squirms at the drag against his sensitive rim. It feels so good it almost hurts. His cock is heavy and full between his trembling legs. Tokiya pulls him half upright, just to look at his face. Masato wonders what he sees. He knows how he feels – his eyes are wet with unshed tears and he’s desperate, he knows it must be showing.

“You are remarkably beautiful,” Tokiya murmurs.

“I want to see his face,” Ren says. “Turn him around.”

Tokiya effortlessly lifts Masato into Ren’s lap, and Ren permits Masato to bury his face in his neck as he guides his cock into Masato. This does hurt, at least a little, but Ren is gentle and slow enough that it’s bearable.

When he’s seated all the way on Ren’s cock, a hand tangles in his hair and pulls him back, gentle but insistent. Masato goes with only a little resistance, lets Ren see his face.

“Oh, you are perfect,” Ren breathes. “Look at you. You can take so much more than this.”

Ren’s hands catch his hips, and at the first movement up into him Masato shudders. It’s not painful, just so so odd, and he can’t help but react where they touch him. Tokiya nestles up behind him, wraps a hand around his torso and rolls a nipple between cold fingers, drags his other hand down to tease at the head of Masato’s cock.

“Finish first,” Tokiya says to Ren, dragging his lips up Masato’s neck. “I want a turn, and I don’t want him too hurt.”

“Bossy,” Ren laughs. Masato _shakes,_ helpless. Ren rolls his hips into him, presses the head of his cock past the thing inside him that feels like being set alight, sinks all the way in. Masato thinks he’s never not going to be able to feel this, like his nerves have been permanently damaged, like he’s been changed.

Tokiya bites at his neck, never breaking the skin, breath cold against his hot neck. His thighs are spread around Ren’s waist, narrow but close enough that he’s straining.

“Let me,” Masato gasps. “Please, let me, please.”

Ren thrusts up into him, sharp, shudders beneath him and Masato feels something _wet _inside him, oddly cool, and he squirms at the feeling.

“What,” he gasps. Ren groans, stilling beneath him.

Tokiya’s hands tighten, one digging fingers into the insides of his thigh and the other on his chest, pulling a nipple so tight it hurts. Masato groans.

“My turn,” he murmurs. He tugs Masato back and Ren slides out of him, and something else does too, something slick and wet and cool. “I’ll be gentle.”

He slides into Masato as he is, settles Masato in his lap, back to his chest. Masato gasps and shudders – he aches already but he’s wet and open, and there is no resistance. Tokiya’s hands on his hips are firm, unyielding.

“Would you like Ren to touch you?” Tokiya murmurs. “Or would you like it if I did it?”

“No,” Ren says. His voice is rough, low, sated. “Touch yourself. Use your own hands.”

Masato’s hands tremble as he wraps them around himself. He doesn’t know what he likes, barely knows what to do. He strokes, once, quick and smooth, shivers when his fingers catch the nerves at the head.

“Good,” Tokiya praises. “Good, look at you.”

Ren reaches out a hand, trails it lazily down Masato’s stomach and wraps it around the base of his cock. He strokes slowly, drags the oil down his cock to ease his way. His hand is divine, warm enough to be comfortable, tight and slick and close around him. He can’t stop himself from jerking up into it, not when Ren laughs and not when Tokiya pinches him. The movement jerks him almost free of Tokiya, who grabs his hips and pulls him back down.

It’s like being impaled, it’s like dying. Masato had thought the orgasm Tokiya had forced him through earlier had been intense but this is something else again. He’s taken so much, they’ve wound him so tight that he can feel his control fraying, thin threads of it snapping. He wants release. He wants to come _now._

“Let me come,” he says, snaps really, voice tortured into something rough. “Let me.”

Ren responds, curls his mouth in wicked amusement, tightens his hand and pulls, hard and fast and enough, enough that Masato finally crashes over the edge.

He feels teeth in his neck then, Tokiya moaning beneath him. It hurts. It burns.

“Oh,” Ren sighs. “Icchi’s hungry.”

He traces the hand on Masato’s cock down his thigh, drags out a trail of white with his fingers. “So am I.”

Ren lifts Masato’s knee, exposes the inside of his thigh to his eyes. The movement pulls on Tokiya’s cock inside of him, but when Masato moans and tries to cover himself Ren just laughs, softly.

“We’re nearly done now,” he murmurs. “You can rest now.”

He leans in, kisses the inside of Masato’s knee tenderly. He brushes his lips over the streaks of white he’d left, kisses at his skin. His mouth is cool, pleasantly so against his burning skin.

Masato can tell when he’s decided on a spot to bite. His pulse quickens, his head grows light. Tokiya’s teeth are already in his neck, draining him dry, but he can _see _as Ren breaks his skin to feast.

Tokiya’s mouth pulls away from him. “Hush, Masato,” he murmurs. His limbs are heavy, his neck and thigh aching sharply, the rest of him weak and sore. “Stop fighting it.”

Masato falls unconscious to Tokiya’s teeth sinking back into him.

He’s very surprised when he wakes up.

He aches all over, is almost numb with it. But he’s warm, and his heart beats in his ears, and he’s wrapped in soft, heavy blankets.

“Ah,” he hears. “He’s woken.”

It’s Ren. He feels the mattress he’s lying on dip, and then there’s a hand on his neck, the side Tokiya hadn’t bitten a hole into.

“How are you feeling?” he hears Tokiya say, somewhere close to his face.

“Why aren’t I dead?” he mumbles. Ren snickers off to the side.

“A good question,” he says. Tokiya glances at him, irritated.

“Do you have to?” he asks. “You’re alive because we wanted you to be.”

“You’re a good lay,” Ren says, offhand. “We wanted to experiment with you a bit. And you taste simply divine.”

Masato tries to sit up and his head swims. Tokiya nudges him back down, gently.

“Stay,” he orders. “You can’t get up yet.”

Ren hums. He’s sprawled out next to Masato, oddly warm. Masato lays back down and looks around the room as best he can – three of the curtains around the bed have been drawn, keeping in the heat, but the last is open and facing the fire. It’s pleasantly comfortable.

“You want to keep me alive?” he asks. It’s almost too much to hope for. “To use as some kind of – to use me for –”

“Well, blood, mostly,” Ren says, grinning. “Sex too. Company, perhaps. That would depend on your conversational skills.”

Tokiya sighs. “Must you phrase everything so crudely?” he asks. “Taking blood during sex is an intimate act. It’s not done often. It’s common to develop an attachment.”

Masato shrinks in on himself. He can identify the feeling bubbling in his stomach but he doesn’t want to think its name. “You want to keep me around?” he asks. “I can’t – it would kill me, to do that again! To say nothing of my duties in the village.”

“My, how responsible,” Ren murmurs. “No, don’t be silly. We don’t have to drink from you during sex every time. It just enhances the experience.”

Tokiya sighs again, and Ren laughs. “I know, I know. But I’m sure we can come to an arrangement tomorrow, once poor little Masato’s had some time to recover. We were quite mean to him.”

“We were,” Tokiya allows. He curls himself around Masato, dressed in a nightshirt. Ren is still nude, as is Masato beneath his blankets. He’s trapped between two creatures that could kill him in a heartbeat, but they haven’t yet, and they don’t seem to want to either.

Masato manages a scowl. “I refuse to be some kind of pet. You will have to kill me first.”

“Noted,” Ren says. He’s amused, for some reason. “But we will talk about that tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not the halloween fic i wanted to give you but yall dont get that one!!!!
> 
> is this perfect? no it's not even very good but it's also not halloween anymore and i have work in the morning so you get this now or no halloween fic at all and it's actually my choice so ha. this is getting posted whether you like it or not
> 
> title from muse thought contagion


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps they will let him live, and perhaps they will let him free, and he will spend his entire life thinking of last night and this morning. Perhaps they will kill him after they have had him again. Perhaps they will keep him. Masato is terrified at how much he wants to be kept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all warnings from the previous chapter still apply, as well as masato's father being terrible and masato feeling extremely ashamed for religious reasons.

* * *

Masato wakes to something inside of him.

It's Ren, cool fingers stretching and spreading him open, and it hurts but his cock is hard against his stomach and Tokiya's hand is stroking over it, just barely touching.

"You make the most wonderful noises in your sleep," Tokiya greets him with. "Far more shameless than while awake."

"Lord Ichinose?" Masato pants. Ren laughs.

"Come now," he says. "Surely we're beyond that? Unless you enjoy the form of address, of course."

Masato glares, but it's weak and it shatters when Ren twists his fingers inside him. His hand is even warmer now than it was last night, the oil coating his fingers hot and slick. Masato gasps at his touch.

"Come now, Masato," Tokiya purrs. "This isn't such an unpleasant way to wake, is it?"

Masato can't stop himself from crying out as he comes. Ren smiles at him, oh so smug, and he knows that if he looks to Tokiya he'll be self-satisfied too. He lies there panting. His thighs are shaking, weak with sensation.

"Good morning, Masato," Ren says, and in a move that a human couldn’t possibly perform he slides up Masato's body to lie beside him, almost on top of him, pressing him to the bed. "How are you this morning?"

Masato tries to draw himself together. His head spins and Tokiya is still drawing patterns into his stomach with his fingertips, so it's hard to think, but he makes himself.

"You're not human," he says.

Ren raises his eyebrows. "We are aware."

Masato is pinned between them and has nowhere to flee, and even if he did he wouldn't get more than a step. He's not even sure he wants to run.

"What do you want?" Masato asks, and Tokiya laughs.

"I had thought that we had made that rather obvious," he says. "Do you need a reminder?"

"Icchi," Ren says, grinning. "You insatiable little whore."

Tokiya flushes delicate pink. "You ought to wash your mouth out with soap," he says. "And in front of our guest! Appalling."

Masato looks between them. Their arms across him are heavy, immovable. He is entirely at their mercy.

"What now?" Masato asks. His voice rasps.

Ren hums. "Well, it would be a shame to have you faint away before we get to have you again," he says.

Tokiya nods, consideringly. "Breakfast, I think. And perhaps we owe Masato a bath."

"A shame," Ren says. "I rather like him like this."

"I would appreciate a bath," Masato mumbles. He's disgusting. He's covered in… fluids, full of them, from last night no less. It's absolutely awful.

Ren sighs, mournful. "If you will insist," he says. "I'll call George. Tokiya can clean you up enough to get to the bath."

Tokiya's eyes gleam. "It's not proper to leave a guest so messy in front of the staff," he says.

"Like you don't just want to tease," Ren fires back, and gets out of bed. He's fully nude and completely unashamed, and though last night's fire has died down the cracks of light from around the curtains are enough to see him by. Masato stares at the sheets. He'd be burned alive if news of this escaped, burned and disgraced. He feels more than a little sick.

Tokiya produces a cloth, from somewhere, and a basin of water. He catches Masato's wrist and tugs him upright, somehow leaving him no choice despite his seemingly gentle grip. He wets the cloth and begins working the worst of the dried mess from between his legs. The mess is sticking to him, dried into the fine hairs on his skin. Masato is sure he stinks.

Tokiya rinses off the cloth and wrings the water out, before kneeling up to clean off his stomach. Masato has never been waited upon quite like this, certainly not as an adult. To have it done by something so dangerous is almost surreal.

Tokiya rises and cups his face. "Stunning," he murmurs. Masato can barely look at him, eyes flickering away more often than meeting Tokiya's. Tokiya sighs a laugh. "But in need of a moment alone, I think, though I'm sure Ren would love to have you in the bath. I'll keep him away, I promise."

Masato feels his cheeks heating beneath Tokiya's cold hands. They're so shameless, both of them, even Tokiya with his perfect manners and polite speech will say the most obscene things.

"Hm?" Ren hums behind him, making him jump a little. He jumps again at the arms that wind around his waist, cold flesh raising goosebumps on his skin. "Oh, that is an idea. All dripping wet."

"Ren," Tokiya sighs. "Behave."

Ren laughs and drapes a robe around Masato. It's thick, made with some kind of heavy cotton that's been warmed before it was put on him. Masato huddles into it.

"I can behave," Ren says. "I'll just bother Tokiya until you're back."

Tokiya raises his eyebrows. "You will do no such thing."

Ren is already shrugging a shirt on. This one has long loose sleeves, and it looks more like something Masato would expect a noble to wear than the strange short sleeves he had on last night.

A knock sounds on the door. "Lord Jinguji?" someone calls.

Ren saunters over and opens the door. "George," he says. "If you could escort Masato to the bath, that would be marvellous."

"Of course, my Lord," George says.

Masato doesn't look back when George leads him away from Tokiya and Ren's bedroom. He stares resolutely ahead, refusing to look at the man who must know, if not the specifics, then the idea of what happened last night.

George leads him down into a room with a large bathtub in front of a roaring fire. He shows Masato where the soap is, where the towel for him is, where the clothes he's been provided are. Masato nods numbly at it all, and stares at the bathtub for a full minute before shrugging off the robe and getting in.

He usually washes from a basin, lukewarm water as a general rule. This feels far too extravagant for him, enough hot water to completely submerge himself in. The heat is good for his aching muscles though, abused last night and this morning.

He feels himself turn scarlet, though there's no one to see him think such indecent thoughts. He hasn't ever felt how last night had made him feel. The shocking rush of sensation and emotion, of feeling wanted, of feeling filthy at the same time. Such indulgence is immoral, but he can see why so many choose to fall if this is the reward.

He reaches between his legs.

Not to pleasure himself, though the thought occurs to him. To clean himself, because though Tokiya got the worst of the filth off him he's still sticky with it, still full of it. They both - _both _\- they - _inside him_.

It's not something he can wash off. And he knows, with barely a second's thought, that should they proposition him again, he will say yes.

The soap is lightly perfumed, flowery and delicate. The clothes they have given him are expensive, not quite perfectly fitting him but very nearly right. They must be Ren's - Tokiya is slighter than him, and a little shorter, though he seems to loom. He towels his hair dry carefully but can't find a comb, and when George comes back he apologises for the oversight.

"I will return at once, Young Master Hijirikawa," he says, bowing deeply. "I do apologise."

"It's fine," Masato insists desperately. "I can come with you, it's not that big a deal."

He follows George up to another room, where he's loaned a comb and sat in front of a huge, ornate mirror. If it fell on him, he would be crushed at once.

He neatens his hair, the slight dampness making it fall limp. He feels far more human now he is clean, far less irresponsible and mindless than he had been last night. He is under no illusion that it will last.

George appears again to whisk him to the same room he had been received in last night. The curtains are drawn still, and the fire lit again. Tokiya and Ren lounge on the sofas, Ren again sprawled comfortably, Tokiya neater but still more relaxed than last night.

"Masato," Tokiya says.

Masato bows. "Lord Ichinose. Lord Jinguji."

Ren laughs. "Thank you, George," he says.

"My Lords," George says, and leaves the room. Masato hesitates in front of the door.

"Masato," Ren sings. "Come here, won't you?"

Masato nervously crosses the room to stand before him, only for a cold hand to grab the back of his shirt and tug him firmly backwards.

"Breakfast," Tokiya says, severely. "Then you may have your fun."

Ren pouts. "I bet I could persuade him otherwise," he says.

"You know, I'm not sure you could," Tokiya says. Masato is being guided by the neck to a table laid for one - they've abandoned the pretense of humanity, then. Tokiya releases him only when he's sat in the chair.

"Eat," he orders. "Because we will have our fun, and you will be awake for it."

Masato forces himself not to swallow nervously. He reaches for the basket of bread rolls, puts two on his plate, and pulls the jam closer too. Tokiya sits opposite him, watching.

Masato refuses to be cowed. He spreads the jam on his roll and takes a bite without breaking eye contact. Tokiya watches his mouth with amusement.

"So, Masato," Ren asks, sliding into the seat next to him. He doesn't seem as interested in watching Masato eat, which Masato thinks is a low bar to be grateful for but he'll take what he can get. "What will you tell your father about last night?"

Masato forces himself to swallow the suddenly ashen mouthful of bread. "My father."

Tokiya raises his eyebrows at Ren. "Crude," he says.

"Well," Ren says. "Better some discomfort now than the alternative."

"The piano," Masato blurts. "I'll say you're both keenly interested in music."

"Very well," Tokiya says. "And how did we hear that you play the piano?"

"You're more involved in the town than some might think," Masato says. For a moment he wonders if they'll consider it mockery, but Tokiya just laughs.

"Very well," Tokiya says. "A simple enough lie."

Masato resists the urge to cross himself. After all the sins he's committed, a lie should hardly trouble him so.

Would they react if he crossed himself? Would they burst into flames? If he wears a cross next time, will they be unable to touch him?

Ren pours him tea. Masato takes it.

"Thank you," he mumbles. Ren smiles, for once at least a little genuine.

"So you do play piano," he says. "We weren't sure."

"You play somewhat infrequently," Tokiya notes.

"I do not have much time to indulge," Masato says. He doesn't ask why they know what they do.

Tokiya raises his eyebrows like he's too polite to tell Masato he knows that's bullshit, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make sure Masato knows what he thinks. Ren snorts.

"You don't have time for much of anything, do you?" he asks.

"I have responsibilities," Masato says. His mouth is suddenly dry. "To the town."

"Ah yes, the town," Ren says. "Such a lovely place. Such a lot of work to be done."

Masato takes another bite of his roll. He feels like he's being scolded, and he doesn't like what he suspects it's for.

"Well, I suppose we ought to actually have you play," Tokiya says. "After all, it wouldn't do to have you lie. I suspect you're far too honest for that to work."

Masato is, quite honestly, an atrocious liar. Ren laughs at him.

"Such a pure boy we are corrupting," he murmurs. Masato feels himself turn scarlet.

"Please. You know your tastes," Tokiya tells him. Ren laughs, loud and bright and mean.

"But of course you're right! Ah, how could I resist," Ren says. "Come now, Masato. Are you done with breakfast?"

Masato has finished both his rolls and the tea Ren poured. His stomach churns with nerves, though the food has settled him a little.

"I am," he says. Ren beams.

"Excellent," he says. "Now, if you would close your eyes, I would be very much obliged."

Masato glances to Tokiya, who looks calmly back. He bites his lip and shuts his eyes.

Immediately there are cold hands on him again, far more tender than they had been last night. The wind whips past them and Masato can't stop himself from shivering and curling into the hard chest he's cradled against.

They only move for a moment before they've stopped, and he opens his eyes nervously to see it's Tokiya who has carried him this time.

"Are you alright, Masato?" he asks. "Can you stand?"

Masato nods, and Tokiya sets him on the floor. Ren watches with his ever-amused smirk. Masato looks around the room.

It's a ballroom, or something similar. The plaster moldings are intricate and delicate. The floor is smooth and polished. There is a raised section, for an orchestra, and on it, there is a piano.

It is a nice piano. It is the nicest piano Masato has ever seen.

"May I?" he asks, almost shy, and Tokiya nods and Ren holds his arm out. Masato walks up to the piano and sits at it.

He plays a note and it hovers in the air. He assumes the ballroom was designed to carry the sound but it's hard for him to tell from where he's sat.

He plays a few simple scales. It has been a long time since he could practice regularly and he has no doubt it will show. But that's not important. What's important is that he is a terrible liar, and if he doesn't play for them, he will have to lie about it.

He breathes out and plays. He misses notes, falters occasionally, slows the tempo when the notes fly too fast for his fingers to keep pace. It is not a good performance.

He stops when he feels a cold hand on his shoulder. Tokiya slides his hand to Masato's elbow and tugs him away from the keys.

"When was the last time you played?" he asks. Masato's cheeks burn.

"I can't remember," he mutters, trying not to sound sullen. "A month, perhaps?"

"Impressive," Ren drawls from behind him. "You must love the piano a lot to play so well after such a break."

He turns to glare but Ren is being genuine, and he doesn't know what to say to that. He can't look at Tokiya either, because Tokiya is also looking at him with kind eyes.

He stares resolutely at the piano instead. Perhaps they will let him live, and perhaps they will let him free, and he will spend his entire life thinking of last night and this morning. Perhaps they will kill him after they have had him again. Perhaps they will keep him. Masato is terrified at how much he wants to be kept.

Tokiya laughs, gently, and tugs him upright. "Come," he says. "We must let you go at some point, and it would be a shame not to fulfil our promise."

"You did say we would have our fun," Ren murmurs, wrapping his arms around Masato's waist and burying his cold nose in Masato's neck. "I think we should go back to bed."

"Will you join us this time?" Tokiya asks, and Masato thins his lips and shakes his head. He wants to. He wants to, but he can't possibly go willingly.

Ren clicks his tongue, laves his cold wet tongue up Masato's throat. "For someone so prudish, you're very obvious about what you like," he murmurs. "I bet if I threatened to have you right here on the floor you'd enjoy it."

Masato shivers. He doesn't think he'd enjoy the actual act - a cold, hard floor, Ren's cold, hard body. But the threat? The threat he enjoys.

"Oh, Ren," Tokiya murmurs. "You know very well what you'll come to want, sooner or later."

Ren laughs. "Undoubtedly," he agrees. "But I'm quite content with the state of things for now."

Ren's hands slide down past his waistband, cold hard fingers pressing against his hipbones, pulling him back flush against him. Masato can feel the outline of his cock against his ass, heavy and threatening and sickeningly exciting.

"Shall we?" Tokiya says, and Ren's mouth curves against the back of his neck.

"Of course, darling," he murmurs, and catches Masato in his arms and lifts him against his chest again.

"Close your eyes," Ren warns.

Maybe it's because the cold wind will damage his eyes if he has them open, or maybe he'll feel sick at the sight of the world flying past so fast. He barely has time to ponder before he's being thrown to a bed, and he gasps his eyes open to find Tokiya atop him, yanking at his clothes.

Ren joins him and they tear the clothes from his body, leaving long shallow scrapes in his skin as they do. Masato can barely make sense of what's going on, barely has time to register Ren's arm moving before Tokiya's shirt has been torn from his body, before Ren's clothes are gone too.

He cries out when Tokiya's fingers slide into him, slick with something cool and fast enough to hurt. Ren laughs and groans all in one and suddenly he’s being flipped over, and cold hands on his hips are pulling his ass up into the air.

“Ren,” Tokiya says, scolding. “Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t,” Ren murmurs, and Masato has no time to wonder what it is Ren is not permitted to do before one of them is sliding into him, hard and cool and heavy, so heavy atop him.

“Greedy,” Ren says.

“How could I not be?” Tokiya asks. “Oh, Masato. I think we will have to do this again.”

Masato can’t help but shiver at the thought. Oh, he wants them to want him. He likes being wanted.

Ren laughs, a gentle murmur. “The two of you are beautiful together,” he says. He slides around, tilts Masato’s head so gently and kisses him, and though his lips are cool they are soft, somehow, full and gentle against Masato’s mouth. Masato lets him kiss his mouth open, lets him slide his tongue into his mouth. He doesn’t bite. Masato cannot even feel his teeth.

“Ren,” he chokes out, when Ren lets him breathe. Ren’s eyes light up.

“Masato,” he says. “Would you like to use your mouth?”

Masato cries out, because Tokiya has taken his cock in his hand and is stroking it, fucking him with strangely gentle motions and it’s not like last night, it’s not so frenzied and hungry and yet he feels like he’s going to burst out of his skin.

Ren strokes his cheek. “Come here,” he murmurs, seats himself in front of Masato, against the pillows. His cock is in front of Masato, and Masato has never seen someone else’s cock up close (has barely even looked at his own in shame) and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He reaches out a hand, tries not to shake, tries not to lose focus every time Tokiya moves. Ren’s cock is smooth, soft skin beneath his fingertips. He wraps a hand around it, squeezes, tugs. Ren threads his fingers through his hair.

“Use your mouth,” he says.

Masato’s mouth is dry. “I’m not,” he tries. “I’ve never.”

“I know,” Ren says. “But you want to.”

Masato thinks about Ren’s tongue inside his mouth. He tentatively opens his mouth, tentatively licks the head of Ren’s cock.

It doesn’t taste of anything. He opens his mouth further, catches his dry lips on the skin. He pulls back to lick his lips and tries again, pulls maybe an inch into his mouth before losing his nerve.

Ren’s eyes are bright when he tries to look up at him. He has to strain, to roll his eyes all the way back in his head and Ren smirks down at him when he does.

“Is that all, Masato?” Ren asks. His voice is a low purr. Tokiya’s cock fills him, pushes him forwards around Ren. Masato knows he’s being baited, knows Ren is using the irritation he so easily drags to the surface, but it’s still working. He looks back down and moves his tongue, flicks it along the underside of the small amount of Ren’s cock he has in his mouth, tries to relax his throat. Ren’s fingers tighten in his hair, a single moment of almost-pain, and Masato tries it again.

It doesn’t have the same reaction, but then he can’t help but grind his hips back into Tokiya for a moment, writhing, and Tokiya groans and moves faster.

“Oh dear,” Ren sighs. “I guess we’ll have to teach you when Tokiya isn’t being so greedy.”

Tokiya makes a sharp, helpless sound behind him. Masato tries to tighten his mouth around Ren’s cock, can’t help but be annoyed when his teeth get in the way. He moves his hands from where they’re braced against Ren’s hips and wraps one around the part of Ren’s cock he doesn’t dare to reach. Ren laughs and gasps and twists a hand through his hair, not as hard as he’d pulled before but firm. Unyielding. He doesn’t let Masato slip off of him, forces him to hold his cock in his mouth.

“Icchi,” Ren drawls. “Can you fuck him harder? Can you make him scream?”

Tokiya laughs breathlessly even as Masato’s eyes widen, as heat lances through him. “Are we boring you, Ren?”

“Not at all,” Ren says. His voice is pulling tight now, and his cock in Masato’s mouth is full and hard and swollen. His head jerks with Tokiya’s every move and Ren seems to like that, seems to like it when choked moans are punched out of him.

“Masato,” Tokiya murmurs, cooing almost. He arches over Masato’s back and leans in to bite his shoulder carefully, teeth and pressure but no blood. “Could you come like this?”

Masato can’t answer, of course he can’t. Ren laughs, delighted. Ren is shivering now, fine tremors running through him, muscles in his thighs and abdomen drawn taught.

_He wants to push,_ Masato realises. _He wants to use me as Tokiya is._

The thought is not terrifying, is what Masato realises first. What’s terrifying is that he likes the idea, wants Ren to use him that way. He wants to be kept.

Ren comes in his mouth, a sudden rush of cool bitter liquid in the back of his throat. Some of it slides down his throat. Masato forces himself to swallow, lest he gag. Tokiya doesn’t stop moving and more is smeared across his lips with the movement, leaving him a mess as Ren pulls away from him.

“My word, Masato,” Ren murmurs, voice a little breathless. “You certainly have a knack for that.”

“Oh?” Tokiya asks.

“Mm,” Ren hums, settling back. Masato is left gasping and panting above his stomach, tries to lift a hand to wipe away the mess on his face but Ren catches it and pulls him forwards. Tokiya moves with him, growling.

“Stop interfering,” he warns. “You’ve had your turn.”

Ren smiles, lazily. Masato barely registers any of this, so overwhelmed with how much he’s feeling. Tokiya’s cock inside of him, his cold hands burning on his hips, Ren’s chest beneath him, hands in his hair and the ghost of his cock in his mouth. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

“I need,” Masato pants. “I need.”

“We know,” Ren murmurs. “Let Icchi take care of you.”

“No,” he pants. “I - oh!”

He drops his head to Ren’s chest, can’t help the moan that shudders through him as Tokiya strokes his cock carefully, hand cool and gentle and firm, enough pressure that he wants to scream.

“Good boy,” Ren murmurs. “Both of you, look at you. Are you going to come for me?”

Masato sobs as he comes, feels himself collapsing as the strength leaves his limbs. Ren gathers him in close, props his hips up as Tokiya pulls out and spills all over him, leaves him a marked, sticky mess.

Tokiya rolls off of him and onto the bed beside Ren, and before he registers the movement there’s a sheet atop him, and he’s being carefully arranged between them. Tokiya’s calf hooks over his knee, and Ren’s knee pushes between his thighs. His forehead is pushed to Ren’s clavicle, Tokiya’s arm wraps across his chest. It should be too hot but it’s not, because they’re both so cool, because even sweating with exertion Masato is a comfortable temperature between them.

“A knack?” Tokiya asks. Ren hums.

“I hate to be crude,” he starts.

“Liar,” Masato mumbles. Maybe it’s a bad idea. He doesn’t care right now, and Ren just laughs anyway.

“But he does,” Ren continues. “Have a knack. With a little practice, he could be very dangerous.”

“Oh?” Tokiya asks. There’s a smile in his voice. “Well, a little danger does make things interesting.”

_Yes,_ Masato thinks. _Danger. Like falling into bed with two creatures of the night._

He dozes there, worn out from being so thoroughly fucked. They hold him close as he drifts, exchanging quiet comments that Masato only sometimes listens to.

It’s stupid, being so complacent around two such creatures. But they have been - well, not gentle with him. He aches again, and his jaw hurts too now. But they have been careful. He is not damaged. They could have killed him long before now, if they wanted. It is hard to maintain such tension for so long, when the threats are so charming.

Masato is charmed. What a fool he is.

At confession next week, Masato tells the priest he had indulged in gluttony when the lords had invited him to their manor to play for them. He asks for forgiveness and the priest grants it and blesses him.

Masato is not sure he believes in the priest’s blessings anymore. He has been blessed before, has prayed faithfully every day of his life, and it had not protected him from the monsters.

Shame curdles in his stomach. That might mean that it’s his fault, that the seduction of the two lords had worked on him because he had never been pious, because he had gone through the motions of faith but had always had questions that he had never dared ask, questions that someone who truly believed would never have even thought of.

He goes back to work the afternoon he returns from the castle. His father is furious, but doesn’t dare speak out against the lords even in front of his son. He makes his displeasure known by piling enough work onto Masato that he doesn’t finish until long after sunset. Masato was never afraid of the dark before and he’s not afraid now either. That’s what scares him.

He hurries back to his father’s house as soon as he’s finished. His father had given him the task of going to collect overdue taxes - he could not have been more overtly furious with Masato if he had beaten him.

It is late when Masato gets home, but his sister is still awake and in the kitchen when he gets home.

“Brother,” she greets. Her eyes are pinched, her mouth pursed. “I made dinner.”

It’s usually Masato’s job to make dinner and clean the house. Mai has an apprenticeship under the seamstress, and she is thirteen and needs time to play and learn. Masato will not see her imprisoned and worn thin trying to look after them, but this time he had no choice.

“Thank you, sister,” he murmurs. “I am grateful.”

She takes the pot of stew off the fire and ladles out a bowl for him. There will be enough to feed them tomorrow, too, and though it’s not as good as Masato’s cooking and nowhere near as good as the food the lords had served him, Masato prefers it.

She sits with him as he eats, pretending to idly gossip as she waits for him to either reassure her or to tell her what’s wrong.

Masato learns that the seamstress’ granddaughter has received proposals from the farmhand’s son and from the shepherd’s ward, and has rejected them both. Mai thinks that she doesn’t want to marry at all.

“She taught me piano,” Masato says, distantly. “Nanami, isn’t her name?”

“Yes,” Mai says. “I hear that Lord Jinguji and Lord Ichinose wanted to hear you play?”

Masato nods shortly. “They are both musically inclined.”

“And they made you play all night and all morning?” Mai asks.

“They provided dinner, and a room,” Masato says carefully. “Their piano is very beautiful.”

“I see,” Mai says. “And do you like them?”

Masato shivers. “I don’t know,” he says. “It is hard to say.”

Mai doesn’t press him on the subject.

The next invite arrives four days later. Masato’s father is furious, but coldly so. Masato prepares meals that will last so Mai doesn’t have to cook, performs all the work his father assigns as quickly and efficiently as he can, and begs for permission to practice the piano.

“Please, Father,” he says, bowing his head. “I was - out of practice. I don’t want to humiliate myself in front of them.”

“It was your childish hobby that caught their attention in the first place,” Masaomi hisses. “And yet you cannot even do that correctly.”

Masato cringes and shrinks. “I am sorry, Father. I will not allow it to disrupt my work.”

Masato is his father’s assistant. He has been since he was fourteen, and before that his father had had him tutored strictly, unlike the other children of the village.

“You certainly will not,” Masaomi snaps. “You may practice when you have finished work. You will stop before I return home.”

“Yes Father,” Masato says, obedient. This is a variable window, and sometimes Masato does not finish working before his father and stays at the mayor’s office longer than his father does.

“Fine. Get out of my sight.” Masaomi dismisses him coldly and Masato flees.

If he wakes earlier, he can go to work earlier and if he doesn’t pause to eat, he will finish that bit earlier. If he tends to the house late at night he can perhaps visit Nanami on Sundays after church and practice there. Even his father won’t force him to work on Sundays, but there is always work around the house to be done.

Masato puts the second letter with the first. It is penned in the same hand, but this one is signed _Ichinose_, and it smells a little like the soap he had been given. The first letter had been far cooler and more impersonal. The second one is almost flirtatious, requesting the pleasure of his company and that he stay the night.

He’s terrified. The memories he has of them have taken on an absurd tint, flame-licked and wrapped in cottons and silks. Surely, he was not seduced by two monsters, surely they did not really feed on his blood. He must be imagining things, he must be misremembering, trying to absolve himself of guilt. They were demons, and he was unable to resist their otherworldly charms. It feels like a lie he’s telling himself, but the deep marks in his throat and in his thigh speak otherwise. He touches them and feels himself grow aroused despite himself, despite his horrified anxiety and despite how they ache sharply at the touch.

He’s too ashamed to touch himself. Every time he thinks of doing so he hears Lord Jinguji’s mocking laughter, sees Lord Ichinose’s wicked smile. He lies in bed under his blankets and shivers, every second more unbearable than the last.

He wakes early the morning he is to visit them, and finishes the work his father had assigned him. Father had told him to finish it before tomorrow night, but if he’s right, he will be too tired to work tomorrow.

He feels himself shrink in his seat at the thought. He’s planned for this dalliance. This is not something he’s going into blind, this is something that he has prepared himself for. He tells himself that he has no way to refuse, that refusal might mean death or worse, but it still feels like he’s chosen this.

He leaves work before sunset, a rarity in the winter months. His father is still in the office, does not look at him when he murmurs his goodbyes. Mai is out when he returns home, playing with her friends, so Masato does not have to defend his nervous state. He dresses himself in the same clothes he wore last time, his Sunday best, and begins the walk to the castle.

He arrives at sunset again. George greets him again. He is taken to the drawing room he was greeted in last time, the drawing room he was served breakfast in, but this time though the fire is lit, neither of the lords are present.

“Lord Jinguji and Lord Ichinose will join you shortly,” George says. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Masato says. His mouth is dry. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

George watches him for a moment, face giving nothing away. “Then I shall take my leave,” he says, and bows. Masato scrabbles to bow back, but George is already shutting the door.

George is human. Masato knows this, he is certain. There is something decidedly real about him, something missing from Ren and Tokiya. His skin is not unnaturally smooth and flawless, his limbs are not proportioned quite so perfectly, his hair is not as luxurious and his voice is not as melodic. He is human, as Masato is, as his sister is, as everyone he knows is.

He knows that the castle employs some of the people from the town, and all of them are human. He wonders if Tokiya and Ren are the only vampires in the area, in the country. Surely not the world.

“Masato,” he hears. It’s Ren. Masato jumps to his feet and bows.

“Lord Jinguji,” he says. Ren takes his hand and kisses it instead of responding to the address.

“Masato, oh my,” he says. His eyes burn like coals. “It certainly is good to see you again. ” Masato cringes away from his eyes, futile but incapable of stopping himself. Ren laughs and leans in.

“Lord Jinguji,” Masato says, as coolly as he can. “I am once again grateful for your invitation.”

Ren smiles, a little more genuinely amused this time. “Come, sit while we wait for Lord Ichinose.” He sprawls out on a sofa, and Masato sits carefully on the far side from him. Ren’s eyes and teeth gleam in the firelight.

“We thought we might ask you to play for us before dinner, this time,” he says. “Icchi says that it’s been some time since he had a proper accompaniment to sing with.”

“I couldn’t possibly be of standard,” Masato says. “I am an amateur. A hobbyist. I am not even the most talented pianist in the town.”

“No, I suppose not,” Ren allows. “But you do show remarkable promise. Your father ought to be encouraging you to follow that. A decent musician can earn quite the living in the cities.”

Masato grimaces in what was meant to be a smile. “My father is quite devoted to the town,” he says. “He does not think such hobbies are appropriate for one with a duty such as ours.”

“His loss,” Tokiya says, voice smooth and warm from the doorway. Masato stands to bow, and notes that Ren stands too, though he does not bow.

“Lord Ichinose,” Masato greets. Tokiya raises his eyebrows.

“If you must insist,” he says. “Masato. It is good to see you again so soon.”

For a moment, the tension in the room is so thick Masato can’t breathe through it. Tokiya is looking at him with such a ravenous expression that Masato isn’t sure what it is he wants more, his blood or his body, and though Masato can’t see Ren’s face he can feel the heat burning from his eyes.

“It is time for dinner,” Tokiya says. Masato blinks, and moves to expose his throat. He doesn't even think before he does it. 

“Your dinner, foolish human,” Ren says. “Come now. We’re not monsters.”

“You’re not?” Masato says. He can’t help himself with Ren. It’s almost actively suicidal.

Ren smirks and stalks towards him slow enough that Masato can follow it. Tokiya watches beside him.

“You never talk back to Icchi,” he murmurs. “Do I irk you so much? What is it, I wonder.” He catches Masato’s chin in his hand and tilts his head back, far enough that Masato is off-balance. “What about me annoys you?”

“I don’t,” Masato tries. “I’m not - I apologise.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Ren says. “I must admit I quite like being scolded.”

Masato feels himself flush, feels his blood against Ren’s cold skin. Ren grins. Those teeth tore open his thigh barely a week ago and he’s still very much marked by them.

Tokiya hums. “You like being able to bully him for it, you mean,” he says. “You’re never this excited when I scold you.”

“Oh, darling,” Ren says. “I certainly am.”

Masato barely dares to breathe. “Well,” Tokiya murmurs. “In that case, stop bullying the poor boy, and let him go and eat.”

Ren lets go of his chin but his arm snakes around Masato’s waist instead, holding him tightly. “Come, Masato,” he says. “Let’s get you fed.”

They lead him to the ballroom once dinner is done. There are candelabras hanging from the ceiling, scores of candles to light the place, but instead Tokiya and Ren light two lanterns each and set them on the piano.

“Can you dance, Masato?” Ren asks.

“Not really,” Masato admits. His mother had tried to teach him, but he hasn’t practiced since then.

“I will teach you,” Tokiya says. “Ren can play.”

Ren laughs. “Probably wise,” he says, and sits at the piano.

“I did not know you played,” Masato says, and feels himself turning red. His horrible performance last week will have sounded far worse to an experienced ear.

“Not exactly,” Ren murmurs. “Our speed and reflexes makes playing most instruments rather simple. It isn’t the same as learning an instrument.”

That sounds like the same thing to Masato. Ren plays perfectly, and Tokiya puts Masato’s hand on his shoulder and takes his waist.

“Come. I will lead. This is a simple dance,” he says, and begins leading Masato around the lit area of the ballroom. Masato follows with some trepidation but it really isn’t a hard dance.

Tokiya’s hands are careful with him, never too tight or lax enough that he could slip away. He feels cradled, despite there being barely two points of contact.

Tokiya dips him gently at the end of the dance, and before the last note has finished hovering in the air Ren is in his place, and Masato is being led by him as Tokiya plays.

Ren dances differently to Tokiya. His hands are firmer and closer on Masato’s skin, skating from his waist to the small of his back when he wants to pull Masato closer. He adds little flourishes, spins where Masato is sure there should be nothing of the sort, dips and leans in second-long pauses. His hand skates down the back of Masato’s thigh and lifts it for a moment, pulling the two of them into a strange, intimate lean that has him clinging to Ren’s shoulder for balance.

It’s a performance, Masato realises. A show for Tokiya, sat at the piano and watching them with hunger. Tokiya dances like a professional and Ren dances to seduce, like he’s entirely certain that he’ll have his way with his dance partner.

Masato shivers at the thought. Ren will have his way. The only reason Ren might not have his way is if what he wants contradicts what Tokiya wants.

Masato is half-hard by the time the dance with Ren finishes. Ren draws him in close at the end, spins him around to face Tokiya and presses up against his back. A forearm settles across his waist, a hand against his throat, Ren’s lips against his neck.

“Icchi,” he drawls. “Please, Icchi, come here.”

Tokiya groans, a hoarse sound. “I hate it when you pretend to beg,” he says.

Masato shivers in Ren’s arms, and Ren laughs, gently. “Dearest Masato,” he croons. “Would you like to come to bed?”

Masato’s tongue is heavy in his mouth. He cannot say no - it would be a lie. It would be the biggest lie he had ever told.

“I can’t,” he manages. “I shouldn’t.”

Tokiya rises from the piano stool. “Masato,” he says, calm and unbothered by the sight before him, even as Ren’s hand slides beneath Masato’s clothes and begins stroking his skin. “You really are delightful.”

Masato doesn’t have a moment to refute that before Ren’s hand is over his mouth, and Tokiya is kissing Ren viciously over his shoulder. Masato can see him slide his tongue into Ren’s mouth, can feel Ren’s cock react at the assault. His eyes blow wide at the sight.

“Icchi’s a greedy thing,” Ren murmurs into Masato’s ear. “I’ll show you someday.”

Tokiya sits a hand on Masato’s waist, steps in far closer than he had been when they’d danced and reaches up the other hand to wrap around Ren’s throat. “I guess that makes it my job to show you the worst of Ren, then.”

Masato pants behind Ren’s hand. Tokiya’s thigh slides between his own, spreading his legs, and Masato has to lean back into Ren to stay balanced.

“Come,” Ren murmurs. “Let’s not make tonight so unpleasant.”

His hand over Masato’s mouth gentles, fingers gently tilting Masato’s head to the side so he can kiss up the side of his throat. Masato's breath shakes, sounding horribly loud in the quiet. Tokiya hums, drops his hand from Ren’s throat and leans in to kiss Masato. His mouth is cool and gentle, so very careful with him.

“There are veins in your mouth,” Tokiya murmurs against his lips. “It would hurt terribly if I were to feed from them. Would you like me to try?”

Masato shakes his head. “No,” he gasps. “No, surely I have no more blood to give.”

“It might be unwise to feed from you so soon,” Tokiya murmurs. “It has been some time, but perhaps not enough.”

Ren’s mouth is gentle against his throat. “A shame,” he says. “We shall have to satisfy ourselves some other way.”

Ren’s hand slides down to his stomach, drops just a fraction lower. Masato has to fight not to squirm into it.

“Masato,” Ren murmurs. “Will you come with us?”

“What?” Masato pants. He can hardly think.

“Come,” Tokiya says, and puts Masato’s hand in the crook of his elbow. Ren mirrors him, so Masato is hanging off the two of them. He feels oddly exposed without the two of them pressed flush against him.

They leave the ballroom and climb a grand, sweeping staircase. Tokiya is carrying one of the lanterns from the ballroom, so the light is dim and flickering. Masato clings onto them to prevent himself from stumbling, dazed and dizzy.

He could never find his way around such a maze of corridors and rooms, huge open spaces and narrow passages that they have to navigate. Some of the corridors are styled like cloisters, with open arches overlooking the courtyard far below and letting in the freezing air. Masato shivers, teeth chattering.

“Hurry,” Tokiya murmurs. “We’ll be there shortly.”

He doesn’t recognise the surroundings of the bedroom he’d been carried to last time until they’re already inside. Again, the fire is roaring and the curtains around the bed are drawn, and already Masato is warmer in this room.

“Come,” Ren murmurs. “Let us sit by the fire.”

They settle on the fur rug before the fire. Masato feels himself thawing, and then growing uncomfortably warm so close to the blaze. He sits stiffly, trying not to show his discomfort.

“Humans are such fascinating creatures,” Tokiya says. “You must be kept at such specific temperatures. Are they all as proud as you are?”

“Proud?” Masato asks.

“You’re sweating,” Ren says idly. “You could move.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Masato says.

“Liar,” Tokiya sings. “How do you decide which lies are acceptable, and which are not?”

“His own comfort is something he may lie about,” Ren muses. “I imagine there are other things too. His desires, for one.”

“What a convoluted system,” Tokiya murmurs, and leans in close. His cool body is a reprieve from the roaring heat of the fire. Masato is not listening to his words, can only watch his mouth move and fight the urge to lean into him. “Come here, Masato.”

Masato moves despite barely understanding, and Tokiya settles him in his lap. Masato sits away from him, trying not to feel the cold, firm thighs between his legs. Tokiya’s mouth quirks. He reaches up and touches Masato’s lips.

“I should like to have your mouth,” he says. “I should like to have all of you.”

Masato parts his lips despite himself. Tokiya smiles, pets his hair as though in reward. “Good,” he murmurs. “Take my clothes off, Masato.”

Masato reaches out his hands and undoes the buttons of Tokiya’s waistcoat, carefully pulls his cravat free with shaking fingers. Tokiya’s neck is long, pale and smooth, and Masato cannot stop his mouth filling with saliva at the sight.

He undoes more of the buttons of Tokiya’s waistcoat, pushes his jacket off his shoulders. It catches on the waistcoat and Masato tugs the layers free, lets the jacket fall to the floor and the waistcoat hang open.

“Your coat,” Masato says. His voice sounds strange to him, distant and buzzing.

“I’ll deal with it in a moment,” Tokiya says. “Continue.”

He pushes the waistcoat off of him, begins unbuttoning his shirt. The linen is so fine that Masato fears to touch it, for risk that he will make it dirty. The long line of his throat gives way to his chest, cool to the touch and as smooth and firm as marble.

He wants Tokiya. He wants him abruptly and furiously, wants him with enough heat to scorch him from the inside out. He has no control here, but he wants to be here anyway because of how badly he wants them.

He sits frozen in Tokiya’s lap. The force of his own desire is shocking, unmanageable. Tokiya reaches up to stroke the very top of his neck, where it meets his jaw.

“Masato?” he asks. Masato cannot respond, shaking with arousal. His voice would crack, break into a mortifying whine, he would only beg.

“Darling,” Ren murmurs from behind him. “What do you want?”

Masato wets his lips. He can’t look away from Tokiya but his words are for Ren too, despite himself, despite everything.

“Please,” he manages. His voice is hoarse, weak with desire. He doesn’t dare to say anything more.

Tokiya’s mouth is wicked. “Of course.”

The world blurs. Masato doesn’t know what’s happening until he’s already naked, stripped bare with Ren pressed against his back. Tokiya has moved, is sat on the edge of the bed closest to them.

“Come here,” Tokiya murmurs. “Crawl.”

Masato swallows, puts his hands on the fur and crawls away from Ren and to Tokiya. Tokiya reaches out a hand and strokes his hair, curls his fingers into it and tugs him close.

“Here,” he murmurs. “You know what I want.”

Masato nods. He’s terrified. He’s determined. He opens his mouth and wraps his lips around the head of Tokiya’s cock, curls his tongue against it. Tokiya lets out a shuddering sigh as he moves.

“Good boy,” he whispers. His fingers at the base of Masato’s skull are careful, holding him like he’s precious. Masato opens his mouth wider, takes a little more of Tokiya into his mouth. His cock is cool but rapidly warming, hard and full in his mouth.

He forces himself to breathe carefully. He tries to think about the time Tokiya had used his mouth on him, thinks about what he liked but all he can remember is Ren wrapped around him and Tokiya’s wicked, wicked eyes.

He whines a little, feels himself growing aroused. Tokiya’s cock slides a little further down his throat and he takes it, takes it when Tokiya’s hand tightens in his hair hard enough to hurt.

“Masato,” Tokiya breathes. Masato looks up at him to see Tokiya staring down at him enraptured, and he doesn’t know if he can meet those eyes and focus on the cock in his mouth all at once so he shuts his eyes and hums.

Masato knows little about pleasure, and only slightly more about the human body. He doesn’t know if the skin of Tokiya’s cock, thin and delicate and warm with his saliva, is the same as that of a human. He doesn’t know if the way he tastes is similar to the way a human might. He suspects, given his own limited experience of orgasm, that the way he arches his back and tightens his hands in Masato’s hair, the way his breaths speed to a flurry before collapsing into one long sigh, the way he goes limp and still and quiet, he suspects that these are all perfectly human responses. The way he absently pets Masato’s hair as Masato licks at his cock, cleaning the come from it. It is a bitter taste but Masato finds he quite enjoys it.

“Masato,” Tokiya rasps. Masato looks up at him, hands on Tokiya’s thighs.

“Was that alright, my Lord?” he asks. His voice is very rough.

Tokiya groans, and his cock twitches next to Masato’s face. Masato’s not sure his throat is up to doing that again but he thinks he might be able to try, at least, if Tokiya wants him to.

“Oh,” he hears behind him, gravelly, and he jumps and turns to see Ren staring at them both with fiery eyes. “You really do look good together.”

Ren is clearly aroused, though he’s still partly dressed. Masato shivers at the sight of him. He’s not sure what he wants most right now, and he’s not sure what Ren will do to him but he knows that he’s gone too far to pretend to himself that he doesn’t want it.

“Lord Jinguji,” he manages. “What do you want me to do?”

Ren grins, a molten liquid thing that conveys delight and amusement and unadulterated lust all at once. He stands, looming over Masato and Tokiya. “Come,” he says. “Masato.”

He holds out a hand and Masato takes it. His knees are jelly when Ren pulls him to his feet and he wobbles, though Ren steadies him. One of Tokiya’s hands comes up and lands on his hip above Ren’s.

Ren leans in, mouths at his neck and jaw. “One day, we will ask you what you want,” he murmurs, a promise. “But not today.”

Masato doesn’t even have time to think about that before Ren is kissing him, kissing him so passionately that his already weak knees give out. Ren slips his tongue into Masato’s mouth, carefully guides him back so he’s sat on the bed next to Tokiya. Tokiya leans into him as though seeking warmth and Masato shivers, at his cool body and at having him so close.

“He deserves a reward, Ren,” Tokiya says, wrapping his arms around Masato’s neck and turning to give Ren an obscene look. “I hope you’re up to the challenge.”

Ren laughs and Masato turns scarlet. “I shall endeavor to be worthy,” he murmurs.

He arranges the two of them across the bed, sheets pushed to the side and pillows beneath them. Masato finds himself lain with his head in Tokiya’s lap and Ren between his thighs, eyes promising all sorts of mischief.

“Icchi’s already had some fun,” he says. “But he might be persuaded to join in for another round.”

“We shall see,” Tokiya says. His hands are light and gentle on Masato, holding him in place. Ren parts his thighs and licks a stripe up the inside of one leg, bites gently at the flesh there. Masato shivers and Ren hums a laugh, skipping his cock entirely and moving on to his stomach. He bites and kisses but gently, feather-light. Masato wriggles in place, tries to hold still as Ren laves his hipbones and thighs with kisses and nips.

He was half aroused from sucking Tokiya’s cock already, and having Ren so mercilessly and languidly tease him is a kind of torture. He can’t help but try and free himself from their hands but of course that’s futile, and even if he did escape he wouldn’t know what to do. His cock lies heavy against his stomach and Masato aches to be touched, but Ren does not oblige.

Ren reaches up and draws a thumb across one of Masato’s nipples and Masato shudders at the feeling. It sparks through him and Ren does it again, and Masato shudders more violently this time.

Ren hums, a curious sound, and Tokiya laughs. “Oh?” he says. “Something interesting?”

“Always,” Ren murmurs, but it’s almost an afterthought. He slides up Masato’s body and sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue in circles around it.

Masato arches his back involuntarily, lets out a strangled moan. Ren does it again and then bites down, sharp and fast, light enough that it only hurts a little but oh, how Masato screams.

Ren switches to the other nipple and pinches the first harshly, bites down on the other and Masato writhes against him, against Tokiya’s hands.

“Stop,” he gasps. “Please!”

Ren pulls away. “Interesting,” he murmurs, and kisses Masato’s sternum.

He drags his mouth down Masato’s stomach, kisses his hips again before swallowing around his cock in a single movement and taking it to the root. Masato screams again, arching off the bed desperately and Ren just lets him, lets him drive his cock into the back of his throat. Masato sobs.

Ren’s mouth is wet and tight around his cock and Masato bucks into it, desperate. He wants to come, he wants it so badly. He can’t understand how he went so long without such base pleasures, without being touched like this.

He comes into Ren’s mouth hard and Ren swallows it all, though Masato is barely conscious to notice it. He drifts back to himself slowly, to his head on Tokiya’s lap and Ren’s head on his stomach. The sheets have been pulled up to cover him and he’s glad for it, because though the fire is blazingly hot the bed is cool.

“Come here, Ren,” Tokiya murmurs. “I’ll take care of you.”

“If you will insist,” Ren says, and wriggles up to lie beside Masato. Masato hesitantly wraps an arm around his waist and presses flush to his back as Tokiya lies in front of him.

Having Ren in his arms is bizarre. Ren comes with Tokiya’s hands on him, and Masato can’t help but watch them. Ren’s mouth is soft after he comes and Masato leans in to kiss it. It doesn’t occur to him that this might be a boundary he shouldn’t have crossed until he pulls back to see Tokiya watching him.

“My Lord,” he mumbles, almost cringing away from them but Ren has caught his wrist and is holding him in place.

“Please, Masato,” Tokiya says. “How many times must we fuck you senseless before you adress us as we asked?”

Masato feels himself turn scarlet. Ren laughs, a sleepy thing, and settles back against him.

“A few more times, I expect,” Ren says. “But it will come naturally, soon enough.”

“I am no longer sure what is proper, and what is not,” Masato says, and Tokiya laughs. His teeth glint in the firelight.

“Nothing about us is proper, Masato,” he says. “Surely you must see that by now.”

Masato sleeps like the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhh this universe possessed me and now this fic is a whole Thing updates will be whenever the hell my brain says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Masato stands in the doorway for a few seconds before sense kicks in and he reaches his numb hands up to undo the clasp of his sodden cloak and pull it away from his body. It takes all but the last vestiges of heat from him and he nearly buckles, nearly collapses to the flagstones and gives up, but he locks his knees and braces himself on the wall. He's fine. He’ll be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good whatever quarantine has kicked my ass, have porn

Masato is cold.

He’s soaked through, icy rain pounding down and drenching him. His hands and feet are numb, and the rest of him is almost burning with how cold he is. The wind howls, leeching any remaining warmth from him. If he opens his mouth it floods with water, foul and freezing. His sodden clothes stick to his skin, chafing against him.

Masato is so cold he fears he’ll drop dead before he gets to his destination. He can barely see three feet ahead of himself. He thinks he should be almost there but he can’t say for sure, not until he practically collides with the wrought-iron gates that mark the edge of the grounds. He staggers sideways until he reaches the smaller gate with the simple latch and tumbles through it. His foot lands in a hole in the ground and he lurches, ankle twisting, and he almost sobs with frustration. He’s so cold. He shuts the gate behind himself with his numb hands and pushes himself across the grounds to the door at the side he’d been told he could use. He can barely clench his hand around the iron knocker but manages, and then he waits the longest thirty seconds of his life for the door to open. He leans heavily on the wall despite the cold stone, trying to take the weight off his ankle. It throbs. Perhaps the cold is good for it.

Finally, finally, the door opens and light spills out, and Masato forces himself stiffly upright, tries not to limp when he moves to enter.

“Excuse me,” he says. His teeth are chattering so he clenches his jaw. “Good evening, George.”

“Young Master Hijirikawa,” George says. His mouth pinches. “If you could wait here for just a moment.”

Masato nods. “I understand,” he says.

George disappears, and Masato stands in the doorway for a few seconds before sense kicks in and he reaches his numb hands up to undo the clasp of his sodden cloak and pull it away from his body. It takes all but the last vestiges of heat from him and he nearly buckles, nearly collapses to the flagstones and gives up, but he locks his knees and braces himself on the wall. He's fine. He’ll be fine.

He looks around and spots a rack on the wall. It’s empty, so after silently apologising to the maids for the puddles he hangs his dripping cloak on it. He can’t bear to touch the thing for any longer.

He tugs at his jacket and it peels his shirt away from his skin. He doesn’t know if the pocket of air is better or worse than the wet fabric sticking to him. Not even his feet remain dry in his heavy boots.

He starts shaking. He can no longer clench his jaw hard enough to stop his teeth from chattering so he presses a numb hand to his numb face in an attempt to dampen the sound. His gloves are sodden too so he peels them off, and his fingers are shrivelled with water and white with cold. They look like the hands of a waterlogged corpse and Masato clenches them in disgust, looking away.

“Young Master Hijirikawa,” George calls. Masato turns and sees him and three other servants. Two of them have their arms piled with towels and the third is carrying clothes. George hurries forwards. “Here, please get out of those wet clothes. I’ve sent for hot water, the bath will be ready in a few minutes.”

George makes to help him out of his jacket and Masato flinches at his hands before forcing himself to accept the help. He draws the line there, asking if they can leave the towels and dry clothes. George nods.

“Please hurry,” he says. “I will return shortly.”

Masato nods, too cold to protest. He sits on the flagstones and unlaces his boots as the servants take his dripping cloak and jacket away. He doesn’t like the idea of changing somewhere so open but he understands why they aren’t letting him any further into the house as he is. He strips naked, shivering violently, and roughly rubs himself down with a towel. When that one is drenched and cold he swaps it out for a second one. They’re warm. He wonders with a pang of guilt who they were meant for - probably another servant, hoping to take a bath, only to have them taken by him. He wraps one around his head, catching the icy drops falling from his hair, and unfolds the clothes they’d left him. He pulls on the nightgown and slippers, wraps himself with the heavy housecoat. These are all warm too. He’s just finished tying the housecoat around himself when George reappears.

“Young Master Hijirikawa,” he says. “Excellent, you’ve changed. Please leave your clothes and follow me.”

Masato tries to protest at leaving his wet clothes for someone else to clean up, but he’s starting to feel lightheaded and it barely takes a hint of pressure for him to cave and follow George into the - kitchen?

“I know it’s not conventional, but this is certainly the warmest room in the house,” George tells him. “Here, please sit by the stove.”

They’ve dragged an ottoman into the kitchen, so he sits quietly. There is a pot of something delicious-smelling bubbling away on the stove, but only himself and George are in there. George pours him tea in a large, sturdy cup, and hands it to him. Masato wraps his hands around it, nearly weeping at how hot it is.

“Thank you so much,” he says. “I’m so sorry for arriving in such a state.”

“No apology is needed,” George says. “I’m quite surprised neither of the Lords went to fetch you, given the weather. It certainly would have been easier.”

Masato blinks, and then tries to stand. It makes his head spin. “I must be so late to meet with them,” he realises. George puts a hand on his shoulder and makes him sit back down. “Please let me go and apologise.”

“Nonsense,” George says. “I’ve told them you are temporarily indisposed, and that you will greet them when you can.”

Masato hangs his head. “I’ve put you to so much trouble,” he says. “Truly, I can’t thank you enough.”

George shakes his head. “Not at all. You couldn’t have predicted the weather would turn so suddenly.”

It had been drizzling when Masato had left, already past sunset, but the storm had blown in as he’d been walking and he was too far from the village to turn back. He had been soaked and frozen in seconds, and every passing minute had made it so much worse.

The kitchen is warm. He soaks in the heat, drinking his tea slowly. George is fussing with something behind him, but he doesn’t leave him alone. Masato is oddly grateful - George is stern and not particularly friendly, but his presence is solid. Unflappable.

He sits quietly by the stove until a bell rings next door, and George tells him that the bath is ready. Masato limps after George through the castle to the bath, huddling deeper into his layers against the cold.

The room is hot and full of steam when they arrive. There are candles lit and the fire is roaring, piled with enough wood to last for hours.

“You know where everything is, " George says. "Is there anything else you require?”

“No, thank you,” Masato says. There are towels hanging on the rack by the fire, with space for him to hang his clothes so they can be warm when he gets out. The soaps and oils are on the small table by the head of the bath.

George leaves him with the insistence that he rings the bell if he needs anything. Masato assures him that he will, knowing that he won’t unless he absolutely has to, and gets in the bath.

It is so warm. Masato had thought the kitchen was warm but this bath is the best thing he’s ever felt. He sinks into the water, wincing at the sting of the heat, and submerges himself entirely. The very roots of his hair rejoice at the feeling. His fingers shrivel up again immediately but this time they’re rosy and pink. He has feeling in his toes again, a stinging prickling sensation that gives way to warmth at last. The water wraps around him, and he relaxes into it, sighing. It laps at his neck, at the knob of his knee bent so it’s sticking out of the water. He lazily kicks up and the waves send water splashing against his chin.

He feels like a child, playing in the water. He can’t help but smile at how ridiculous he’s being and sits up to grab the soap. He picks a plain yellow bar and scrubs himself down, all his skin tender and sensitive at being so recently frozen and soaked. He feels so much better when he’s clean. He rinses his hair in the water and then he just lies there, luxuriating in the comfort.

He doesn’t wish to keep his hosts waiting, but they have already been told of his situation and so he decides to give himself just another minute to relax. The heat soothes the ache the cold had brought, and his ankle no longer hurts, supported by the water. He could stay like this forever.

He won’t, of course. He will only indulge for a short while longer. He lets his eyes drift shut, only noticing once they are closed how heavy his eyelids are. Just a moment, to gather himself. Just a moment.

He doesn’t exactly slip into sleep, but he’s certainly less than conscious when the gentle knock on the door rouses him. He drifts awake and sits up. He’s expecting George, or one of the other servants, so when he hears Tokiya’s voice it sends a jolt of panic through him.

“Masato,” Tokiya calls. “Are you in there?”

“Yes,” Masato manages. He hopes Tokiya can’t hear the stutter.

“May I come in?” The smile in his voice suggests he knows exactly how uncomfortable Masato is.

“I - I am in the bath,” Masato says.

“So I was told,” Tokiya says. The door opens. “Hello, Masato.”

“Lord Ichinose,” Masato mumbles, frozen like a cornered rabbit. Tokiya comes to sit on the edge of the bathtub but he doesn’t stare, just glances over him once before catching his eyes.

“Masato,” Tokiya says. “How are you? George came and scolded us for letting you come to us with such poor weather. I’m terribly sorry. It didn’t occur to either of us to come and get you.”

“It’s fine,” Masato mumbles.

“It certainly wasn’t,” Tokiya says. “But it is now, I suppose. We’ll have to keep an eye on you in case you catch a cold, though.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Masato protests.

Tokiya raises his eyebrows. “Perhaps not,” he allows. “But we’d prefer not to take that risk.”

Masato feels his mouth pull into an unhappy line. “If you insist.”

Tokiya reaches out and tucks a strand of wet hair behind his ear. His fingers are cool but it isn’t unpleasant, not when he’s so warm. His hand lingers.

“I worry about you,” he says, soft. “You would never admit to needing help, so we have to guess.”

“I'm very grateful for your kindness,” Masato says.

“Of course,” says Tokiya. “But you would hate to impose.”

Tokia pinches his cheek gently and gets up, and Masato’s mouth goes dry when he begins taking his clothes off. He lays his jacket over the dresser and hangs his shirt by the fire, and when he bends over to remove his boots Masato has to look away.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks.

“You know I don’t,” Tokiya says. Masato stares at the water’s surface, feeling his stomach flip with nerves. He hears it when Tokiya moves towards him, and he feels it when Tokiya puts his hand on the side of the tub.

Tokiya slides in behind him, letting out a low sigh at the hot water. The first touch of his skin to Masato’s is electrifying, makes him flinch. Tokiya laughs, a low gentle thing, and arranges him so he’s lying back against Tokiya’s chest. The tub is deep enough that he's still submerged, sat between Tokiya's thighs with his head tucked beneath Tokiya's chin. Tokiya wraps his arms around his waist, lazy and possessive and comfortable.

Masato can’t stay tense like this, not for long. Tokiya rubs little circles into his hip, absent, lazy motions that send water lapping against his chest. He slides their legs against each other but it’s aimless, touching for the sake of touching. Masato relaxes back into him, slowly and against his will, and Tokiya hums gently beneath him and encourages it.

He grows hard so slowly that he doesn’t even notice until it’s too late to suppress, and he’s embarrassed but it’s distant. Unimportant.

Tokiya’s hands trail over his stomach, up his chest and down over his hips. He curls a hand to fit against the inside of a thigh, runs his thumb over one of Masato’s nipples. Masato lets out a choked sound, tearing up at the simple touch.

“The cold made you sensitive?” Tokiya asks in a murmur. “Poor boy.”

Tokiya’s cock is swelling beneath him, pressing against the curve of his thigh. He doesn’t move to give himself any relief though, just keeps touching Masato. The soft skin of his inner thighs, the jut of his hips, the curve where his ribcage meets the fleshy dip of his stomach. Masato breathes, slow and controlled, and lets Tokiya touch him. Tokiya digs his fingers into his sides and Masato squirms with ticklish discomfort, and Tokiya laughs and kisses the side of his head in apology.

Eventually Tokiya curls a hand around the back of his thigh, just above his knee, and spreads his legs. Masato takes a shuddery breath as Tokiya reaches down between his legs, touching his cock at last.

He wraps a hand around it and strokes, once, long and slow and tight, and the tears in Masato’s eyes spill over as he gasps for air. Tokiya makes a sound like he’s been wounded.

“You’re so very beautiful,” he says. His voice is low. Masato tries to hold still, tries not to grind down onto the hard cock he can feel beneath him. He wants it, he wants Tokiya inside him, he wants to make him feel good. He wants it, he  _ wants  _ it.

“Lord Ichinose,” he gasps.

“Use my name,” Tokiya murmurs, stroking him again. “Ask nicely.”

“Please, Tokiya,” Masato says. The embarrassment he’d been able to forget before floods back to him, washing him in shame. It prickles hotly under his skin, filling him. Tokiya hums against him, making gentle soothing sounds and kissing him softly, over and over.

“Shh,” he breathes. “Hush, Masato. I only want to make you feel good.”

Masato thinks, a little hysterically, that  _ only  _ is a horrible word to use. He can’t stop his breath hitching into a sob when Tokiya’s long slim fingers press against his opening, sliding against his skin easily under the water. Masato’s muscles are relaxed with the heat - it won’t take much force to breach him. Tokiya presses in further, rubs little circles against him. Masato wouldn’t be able to muster the strength to flee even if he was free to. His legs shake with want. He clutches at Tokiya’s arm across his stomach and tries not to move.

Tokiya hums, kisses his neck, the hollow behind his ear, his cheek and temple. He doesn’t push his fingers into Masato though it would be so easy for him to, though Masato is already open and wanting. He rubs circles around the rim of his hole and holds him in the warm water and Masato’s shaking subsides, until he's taut and still and drawn out beneath Tokiya's hands.

“Please,” Masato whispers. His voice breaks. His eyes are starting to burn, his throat hurts with frustration. It’s cruel of Tokiya to give him time to think about what he’s doing, what he’s asking for. Tokiya kisses his head again, presses his lips to Masato’s wet hair and reaches out of the bath to take a vial of oil from the small table. He holds it up to the light, examining it before deciding he’s happy with it.

He pulls the cork out and upends the contents over his fingers. The oil is thick, viscous and clear, shining orange-white in the firelight. Masato watches as he reaches down to wrap his slick hand around his cock, stroking. He exhales in a slow, trembling sigh as Tokiya’s hand continues to move, biting back whimpers. Tokiya laughs softly.

“You are fun to tease,” he murmurs.

His hand slips lower, fingers returning to circling his opening. Masato can feel the difference, how the thick oil makes the sensation even more intense. Tokiya reaches up a hand and pinches a nipple, rolls it between his fingers, and when Masato gasps and flinches he slides one slim finger into him.

Tokiya scrapes his tongue up his throat and slides another finger into him. He spreads them, spreads Masato open and Masato doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling, doesn’t think it’ll ever stop being so bizarre even as he can’t help but arch his hips into it, chasing more. Tokiya’s fingers are the same temperature as the water.

Masato moves with Tokiya when he pulls his hand back, holds himself up as Tokiya adjusts them. Masato feels Tokiya’s cock against him, feels the head of it at his opening. Tokiya seems content to tease him, to rub slick-hot circles around him like he had with his fingers. Anticipation curls in his stomach, hot enough to burn. His thighs shake with it.

“Tokiya,” he whispers.

Tokiya pushes the head of his cock into him. Masato wants to cry. It’s not enough, it’s never enough and he wants to beg but he knows that if he starts he won’t stop. He wants to be  _ ruined. _

Tokiya laughs, a low thing that sends thrills of fear through him and only makes him harder. He sinks into him, merciless, holds his hips still so he can’t so much as squirm, can’t writhe back into him. The world spins around him. Tokiya lazily thrusts up into him, slow and unhurried. Masato wants him to  _ move.  _

Tokiya bites him, his shoulders and neck and back. He wraps a slick hand around Masato’s cock and strokes, slow and tight and lazy. Masato gasps, tries to grind back but can’t get any purchase; his heels slide against the sides of the bathtub and he hasn’t the strength to hold himself up, not with Tokiya’s hands moving against him like they are. One comes up and pinches a nipple, works it between his fingers. Masato gasps for air.

“Could you come from this?” Tokiya asks. “I think you could.”

“Please stop,” Masato begs. “Please don’t.”

Tokiya clicks his tongue. “Answer the question,” he says. He lets go of Masato’s cock to pinch the other nipple, twists them harshly.

“Yes!” Masato shouts. “I could!”

He could, he thinks. How humiliating. How little dignity he has.

Tokiya laughs. “Good boy,” he says. He lets go of his chest, and finally he moves. The water slops over the edge of the bathtub. Tokiya’s hands will leave bruises on his hips.

“Touch yourself,” Tokiya orders. “Do it now, Masato.”

Masato has his hand around his cock before he can even think to protest with embarrassment, is coming before the shame can set in. His whole body draws taught, shuddering with pleasure. Tokiya is so deep inside him.

He doesn’t know how long he comes for, only comes to when Tokiya releases inside him. He feels so loose. The insides of his thighs are sticky.

Tokiya lies still for a moment, breathing hard, before his arms come up to wrap around Masato’s waist.

“We’ve got a guest,” he murmurs, a moment later. “Relax.”

Tokiya slides out of him, slow, and it  _ aches _ . Masato tries to sit up when he realises what Tokiya means.

“Is Lord Jinguji,” he starts, and Tokiya makes him lie back against him.

“Hold still,” Tokiya scolds. “He’ll be here in a moment. Spread your legs.”

Masato obeys, head spinning. He feels almost nauseous with shame at the thought of being seen like this, and then Tokiya’s fingers slide back into him and he yelps.

Tokiya’s fingers curl and scrape inside of him, and Ren walks in on them like that. Masato clenches his eyes shut, mortified.

“Ren,” Tokiya greets, nonchalant.

Ren clicks his tongue. “Feeling particularly cruel tonight, Icchi?” he asks.

Tokiya curls his fingers and pulls them out, and Masato realises that he’s cleaning the mess out of him. He didn’t think he could get any more embarrassed.

“Only a little bit,” Tokiya answers. He sits them both upright, sets Masato between his legs. “You’re oddly late.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Ren claims. He meanders over to them and perches on the edge of the bathtub. Masato stares at the water, his distorted shape beneath its surface. It’s dark enough that he can’t really see anything.

Ren catches his chin and tilts his face up until he’s nowhere to look but at Ren. His eyes are brilliant, vivid blue. “Hello, Masato.”

“Lord Jinguji.” Masato tries to greet him normally. Ren leans in and presses a shockingly chaste kiss to his mouth, and for some reason it makes him feel better.

“Here,” Tokiya says, and his hands are gentle when they settle on his waist again. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Tokiya washes him with the same honeycomb soap he’d used before, rinsing the semen and oil from his skin while Ren lazily pets him. Tokiya’s hands are deft and don’t linger or tease, for which Masato is grateful. Ren’s hands are slow, but it doesn’t much feel like he’s being teased. It makes a different kind of heat bloom within him, one he knows is showing on his flushing face.

Eventually, Tokiya deems him clean enough to be allowed out of the bath. Ren has produced a towel and wraps it around him, puts an idle hand on his waist while somehow managing not to get in his way as he tries to dry himself off. The towel is warm.

“Have you eaten?” Ren asks. Masato shakes his head.

“I don’t need anything,” Masato lies.

Tokiya sighs. “What would you do if we listened to you?” he asks. “Here. I hope you don’t mind wearing the same clothes as before.”

Tokiya is dry already, and has pulled on his shirt and drawers. Masato takes the nightshirt and housecoat he holds out.

“Alright,” Ren says, and picks him up with breathtaking ease once he has them on. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Masato squeezes his eyes shut, and Ren carries him upstairs in the blink of an eye to the parlour in their personal rooms. Ren stands still for a moment, apparently considering something, before he sets Masato on one of the couches. He piles cushions on the floor in front of the armchair closest to the fire.

“Here,” Ren says, helping him to his feet. “Let me dry your hair.”

Masato doesn’t argue. Tokiya hasn’t followed them, so the two of them are alone for the moment. He sits obediently on the cushions as Ren gently towels his hair dry, combs it out carefully. He doesn’t pull on it at all.

“Your hair is very fine,” Ren murmurs. “Peculiarly soft.”

“Yes,” Masato mumbles. Ren touches his neck, careful. He presses a kiss to the skin there, disappears for a moment and returns without the damp towel.

He lifts Masato into his lap, and Masato goes scarlet reflexively but he doesn’t fight it. He nervously shifts. Ren has him sideways, so they can look at each other, though Masato can’t meet his eye.

“We both got quite a scolding from George,” Ren says lightly. 

“Lord Ichinose mentioned,” Masato says. “I am truly sorry.”

“I thought you would be,” Ren sighs. “Despite this being everybody’s fault but yours.”

Masato stares at his hands. “I don’t think this can be considered your fault, or Lord Ichinose’s.”

“Well then,” Ren says blandly. “As no one is willing to blame anyone for the situation, we can only take it to mean that no one is at fault.”

Masato chances a look at him. Ren’s expression is hard to read - on the surface, he’s mildly amused.

“If that’s what you think, Lord Jinguji,” he says, uncertain.

Ren’s mouth curves, and it appears to be genuine. “We’ll train you out of that yet,” he says. “Icchi’s taking an awfully long time.”

Masato blinks. “Where has he gone?” he asks.

“For food,” Ren tells him. “Perhaps he got lost.”

Ren reaches up and presses the back of it to Masato’s forehead. Masato freezes. “You are a little warm,” he says. “We’ll send a message to your father tomorrow morning if you don’t improve overnight.”

Masato bites back a grimace. “I would hate to impose,” he tries.

“We know you would,” Ren says. “Fortunately, we don’t consider your presence an imposition. Honestly, Icchi should have been more considerate, though I suppose at least he kept you warm.”

Masato nearly passes out at the casual turn in conversation. Ren grins, laughing at him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Icchi has no discipline.”

“That is hardly something I want to hear from you,” Tokiya says from the doorway. He’s carrying a tray. Ren turns his grin on him.

“You aren’t fooling me,” he says. “You won’t fool Masa for much longer.”

Tokiya sniffs, turning his nose up. “Masato. I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I brought some food in case you changed your mind.”

Masato hasn’t eaten since before midday. He is quite hungry. Tokiya makes Ren let him sit alone to eat, and Masato misses his arms as soon as they’re gone. He manages not to wince as he crosses the room to sit on the couch next to Tokiya, who balances the tray in his lap.

Tokiya has brought a bowl of soup and two pieces of bread. Masato eats it as slowly as he can make himself. Ren and Tokiya sit next to him, giving him just enough space that he can eat without spilling soup all over himself, but the moment he’s finished they wrap around him. The tray vanishes.

He winds up with his feet in Tokiya’s lap, Ren cradling him against his chest. They’re comfortable to lie on.

Tokiya massages his feet through his stockings, and Ren plays with his fingers, twining them together. Neither of them seem to feel the need to speak. Masato lies obediently still and lets them do as they please.

“Your ankle is swollen,” Tokiya says. His voice startles Masato.

“I tripped earlier,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

Tokiya wraps a hand around his ankle, careful not to put any pressure on it. Masato tips his head back against Ren’s chest. Tokiya squeezes, gently, and he bites back a grimace.

“It doesn’t seem to be serious,” Tokiya eventually concludes. “But I think it would be best if you stayed off it for a while.”

Masato’s job is mostly paperwork, so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to do that. Tokiya goes back to working the tension out of his calves. The fire crackles, Ren hums beneath him.

He’s half asleep before he realises it, caught in a hazy place just a little deeper than sleepy. Ren massages his hands, down his fingers and up his palms. He puts two fingers against the inside of one of his wrists and holds them there. Masato feels his pulse beating against Ren’s fingertips, lazily thudding away. He watches their hands like they’re separate from himself - it is strange to think that is his hand, cradled between Ren’s golden palms. Strange to think that this is his body, caught between the two of them.

Ren seems content to hold his hands and feel his pulse. Tokiya’s hands eventually still on his feet, simply holding them in his lap.

“Would you like to go to bed, Masato?” Ren asks. His voice is low and soft. “We can stay like this a moment longer, if you’d prefer.”

It occurs to Masato that he’s not being a very good guest. They’ve both already insisted they won’t accept an apology from him, but he really can’t leave things as they are.

“Thank you,” he says. “You have both been extremely gracious regarding the unfortunate state I arrived in.”

He wonders how he ought to feel about Ren’s sudden chastity. He hasn’t done more than give him the briefest kiss imaginable. It leaves him with an odd feeling in his stomach, something akin to fear but more disappointed than that.

Ren takes one of his hands and brings it back up over his head, so he can press his lips to it. “None of that,” he says. “You have been a model guest. We would have you over every day if you would come.”

Tokiya laughs, softly. “Come now, Ren. You fantasise. Masato is far too busy for that.”

Masato doesn’t know if they are teasing so he holds his tongue. Ren places his hand back on his chest, delicately, like he’s made of spun glass.

“You ought to go to bed soon,” Tokiya tells him. He reaches up Masato’s leg, places a hand on his hip. “You really are exhausted.”

“I imagine he was exhausted when he arrived,” Ren says, more than a little amused.

Tokiya’s mouth is sly. “I am no saint.”

Ren sits up, slowly enough that Masato’s head does not spin after being still for so long. His feet slide out of Tokiya’s lap to the floor, but the floor is a warm rug instead of cold flagstones.

“Come,” Tokiya says, holding out a hand. Masato takes it to stand up, but he has barely risen from the cushions and Ren’s lap before Tokiya has picked him up.

“Bully,” Ren says. He sounds unspeakably fond.

“My ankle really isn’t that bad,” Masato manages to protest.

“Your ankle is worse than you will admit, and I enjoy carrying you,” Tokiya says. “Hush now.”

Tokiya walks at a human pace. Masato isn’t sure what to do with his hands, but the distance is only two rooms over and they arrive soon enough. Ren opens the door for them.

The fire in their bedchamber is also lit, though it is much lower than the one in the parlour had been. Ren pulls the bedsheets back and Tokiya sits him on the edge of the bed, taking his housecoat when he goes.

He curls up in the middle of the bed, and Ren draws the sheets up to cover him. “Give us a moment,” he says, winking at Masato, and stands up.

The two of them get ready for bed. It is bizarre to watch them undress so unhurriedly - usually, they are naked in seconds and he is unable to think about it anyway. He watches Tokiya undo the seemingly endless tiny buttons on his shirt, watches Ren unlace his boots and slide them off. Tokiya had undressed for the bath before, but this is different. His intentions then had been clear. Masato is unsure what they expect from them now.

Ren slides into bed beside him first, fully nude. He tugs Masato against him and watches as Tokiya pulls on a nightshirt.

Tokiya checks on the fire before getting into bed and drawing the curtains around them. He’s warmer than usual, perhaps from the bath. It’s pleasant.

“May I ask a question?” he asks.

“Of course,” Ren says.

“When do you sleep?” Masato asks. “I didn’t think - I don’t know what to think.”

Tokiya laughs. “Neither of us are quite so dedicated to the aesthetic as to sleep in a coffin,” he says. Masato flushes.

“I know!” he insists. “I simply wondered - the myths would have me believe you sleep during the day. It seems more sensible that way.”

“We don’t sleep as much as you,” Ren says. “A few hours each afternoon is usually enough.”

“But will you sleep now?” Masato asks.

“Ren will,” Tokiya says. “Ren needs more sleep than I do, and is lazy enough to do so now.”

“Of course I am,” Ren says. “Tokiya is unbearably jealous. Sleeping and waking with you in my arms is delightful.”

Masato can’t possibly have an answer for that. He feels himself blush a bright, overwhelming red and tries to shrink between them. It doesn’t work. Ren laughs.

“Oh, Masato,” he croons. “How could I not love to lie beside you, holding you close. To hear you sigh in your sleep - there is no greater pleasure.”

“I assure you, there is,” Tokiya says. Masato’s pulse is thundering in his ears. He’s so embarrassed that he can hardly hear them, and there’s something else as well, something worse hiding beneath it.

“Oh, come now,” Ren says. “We’ll stop teasing.”

“I see.” Masato’s voice is tiny and hoarse.

Tokiya sighs, and nudges Ren gently. “Lie down. If you’re going to embarrass him, you should let him be comfortable as you do it.”

“You are at least as guilty as I am,” Ren says. He lies down, lets Masato arrange himself between them before wrapping around him from behind. Tokiya remains sitting upright against the headboard, carding a hand through Masato’s hair before letting it come to rest atop his head.

It is dark enough and warm enough that Masato could slip easily into sleep, and he is tired enough to sleep for eternity. Ren’s words bother him though - not the overt teasing, but the seemingly easy declaration of affection. It bothers him how easily he believes it.

Ren and Tokiya love each other. It had not occurred to him until this very moment, but it is so obvious. They are so comfortable with each other, and they extend that to him sometimes. He does not know how to reciprocate. He has never been so close to anyone.

His throat is tight. “Goodnight,” he manages.

“Goodnight, beloved,” Tokiya says.

“Goodnight,” says Ren.

He wakes up slowly, a warm tangle of limbs beneath soft heavy sheets. He can feel the two of them against him, a hand in his own, a foot pressed to his calf.

“Are you really awake this time?” Ren asks, voice amused. “Or are you going to drop straight back off?”

“What?” Masato rasps. He wants a drink.

“You’ve been restless all morning,” Tokiya says. “Good morning, Masato. How are you feeling?”

His head feels a little stuffy, but otherwise he’s fine. “I am well, thank you.”

“Hm,” is all Tokiya says.

“What time is it?” Masato asks. The heavy curtains they have covering their window let the suggestion of light into the bed, but it’s far too dim to tell the hour.

“Just past nine,” Tokiya says. “We thought it best to let you sleep in.”

Masato has never slept so late. He sits up quickly, ignoring his spinning head. “I’m sorry, I need to go,” he says. “I have to - go. I have work to do.”

“You need to rest,” Tokiya tells him. “You have a fever.”

Masato reaches up to touch his forehead, but of course he can’t tell if he’s warm. “I can’t stay in bed,” he says. “I - my father - I’m hardly ill.”

It’s almost true. He has worked through worse illnesses than this, and his father certainly won’t permit him to laze about here for an entire day.

“We sent a message to your father,” Ren tells him. “You ought to take today to rest, and you will be well again tomorrow.”

Masato freezes. “I see,” he says. “I - alright.”

Ren and Tokiya exchange a glance. Masato’s hands twitch in his lap.

“Your father will not punish you for this,” Tokiya says. “We will see to that.”

His voice is relaxed. Masato clenches his fists and forces a smile.

“If you think it’s best that I stay here for today, then I won’t argue,” he says. “And if you’ve contacted my father, then it has already been settled.”

“Well, now that’s sorted, you ought to eat,” Ren says, carefully pleasant. “We can bring you downstairs, if you’d prefer.”

“Thank you,” Masato says. “May I get dressed?”

“Of course,” Tokiya says. “Ren, why don’t you find Masato some clothes? I will ask the servants to set up breakfast.”

Tokiya presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before he can say anything. He presses another to his cheek, a third to his brow.

“It will be fine,” he says. “We promise.”

He kisses Ren’s temple before he goes. His own mouth is numb, skin tingling where Tokiya kissed it. He turns to Ren, still sat beside him. The sheets are pooled around their waists.

“I forgot that your staff had my clothes,” he says. “I am sorry to impose, but may I borrow some of yours?”

He wants to be dressed, all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to lie in bed all day, no matter how ill he is.

“Of course you can,” Ren says. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Masato pulls on the clothes Ren presents him with quietly. He notices the extra layers, a second undershirt and a warm jacket. Ren sits him on the edge of the bed and kneels before him to slide his feet into the house slippers he’d been wearing last night.

“It would be better if you didn’t walk too much,” he says. He has a hand wrapped around Masato’s bad ankle. “I’ll carry you downstairs.”

He sweeps Masato into his arms, and smiles at him. “You don’t need to worry. I promise.”

Masato isn’t nearly as confident about that as Ren is. “Of course, my Lord.”

Ren carries him to the drawing room he usually eats breakfast in. Tokiya is poking at the fire when they arrive, but he quickly abandons that to fuss over Masato. Ren sits him at the table and they set to work pouring him tea and pushing food onto his plate. Masato eats methodically, ignoring the knot of fear in his stomach. His father. His father. The eggs are soft and runny, the bread is warm and fresh. His head spins a little, but he can ignore it.

He eats as much as he can. He’s good at dealing with illness - he is prone to them in the winter months, and his father only permits him to rest when it would be truly impossible for him to work through it. If he eats enough and stays warm, he will be more than well enough to act today. He will try to persuade Tokiya and Ren of this once he has finished, and though his father will be furious with him for coming to work so late, he will escape the worst of his wrath. Satisfied with this plan, he turns his attention to his breakfast.

He finishes his meal. They let him walk to the couch a few paces away, and he has just finished composing his argument in his head when Tokiya’s head turns.

Ren clicks his tongue. “Your father is persistent,” he says.

“What?” Masato manages.

“He’s here,” Tokiya says. The distaste in his voice is apparent. “Ren.”

Masato jerks to his feet. “There’s no need for you to trouble yourselves,” he says. “I will go and speak to him.”

Ren and Tokiya exchange a glance. Masato hates not knowing what they’re thinking.

“Certainly,” Tokiya says. “We will receive him downstairs, then.”

Ren tips his head. “I’ll sit this one out,” he says. “Icchi’s better at this than me.”

Tokiya’s smile seems strained. “The both of us would be too much for this, I think,” he agrees.

Masato forces himself to sit back down and they wait in uncomfortable silence until there’s a knock on the door. George enters at Tokiya’s call.

“The Mayor is here to collect his son,” George says dispassionately. “I have shown him to the waiting hall.”

“Thank you, George,” Tokiya says. “If you could show him to the drawing room in the east wing, I think that would be the best place to receive him.”

“Certainly, my Lord,” George says. “I will have one of the girls light the fire.”

“Don’t rush with the tea,” Tokiya says. Masato could swear he sees amusement in George’s eyes.

“Certainly,” George says, and bows out of the room. Masato shivers a little at the cold draft.

“Well,” Tokiya says, blandly. “We had best go greet your father.”

Masato stands. Ren looks at them, and then catches Masato’s hand.

“Icchi’s a good actor,” he says. “Go along with what he does.”

Masato nods, and Ren lets go of his hand. Tokiya leaves the drawing room and Masato hurries to follow him. The endless hallways are freezing. Masato shivers even at the brisk pace, cold seeping into him. Tokiya does not look back once. His shoulders are square, and Masato wonders if they were always so broad. Was he always so foreboding? Masato cannot tell from behind.

They enter the drawing room and are announced by a servant. Masato is not used to his father being the smallest person in a room but he’s dwarfed by Tokiya’s presence.

“Mayor Hijirikawa,” Tokiya greets. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Lord Ichinose,” Masaomi says, bowing.

“Yes, yes,” Tokiya says, briskly. “I do apologise for the poor reception. Tea will be arriving shortly.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” Masaomi says. In the corner the fire catches, tended to by an oddly tall, thin maid. She piles thin twigs and sticks onto the flame, coaxing it to life. Her fingers are knobbly.

“Father,” Masato greets, bowing. The room is freezing. Even with his second undershirt, he is still cold.

“Masato,” his father says. “Lord Ichinose sent a missive this morning, telling me that you were ill.”

Masato’s body decides this is the perfect time to let loose a sneeze. He barely catches it. Tokiya produces a handkerchief and hands it to him, looking faintly bored. Looking faintly - 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Masato says. He clutches at the handkerchief. “I am a little unwell.”

He means to go on, to say that Lord Ichinose meant well, but really, he is fine to work and there was a misunderstanding, but Tokiya turns back to glare at him.

“Sit,” he snaps. “Or will you waste the time you have already spent resting?”

Masato freezes. “Ah,” he says. Looks to his father. “Lord Ichinose?”

His father nods. Masato lowers himself into a chair, suddenly acutely aware of how little he understands what is going on.

“You are a very dutiful father, coming all this way to check on your son,” Tokiya says.

“I was concerned,” Masaomi says. “I should hate to impose on your generosity.”

“Hardly,” Tokiya says. He sounds bored. He sounds - “Young Masato is here at our invitation. It would be the height of poor manners to throw him out into the rain after getting him sick.”

Masato sneezes again, this time into Tokiya’s handkerchief. He’s cold. The fire doesn’t seem to be giving off any warmth at all and the tall dark portrait looming over the fireplace stares down at them, disapproving of their presence. The maid’s hands are long and pale, spindly dead wood fisted in her dark skirt. She stands and curtseys to them.

“Please excuse me, my Lord,” she says.

“Dismissed,” Tokiya says. He’s never spoken so coldly towards his staff before, at least not in front of Masato. She curtseys again and goes. “But I must ask. Why did you visit, Mayor?”

“To collect my son,” Masaomi says.

Tokiya’s lip curls so briefly Masato thinks he might have imagined it. “I see. You would prefer to tend to him at home?”

Masato’s shoulders are beginning to ache with the cold. His chest feels tight. His throat burns.

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Masaomi says. He glances over to Masato.

“I see,” Tokiya says. “But it might be best not to send him out in the rain again, don’t you think?”

They both turn to look at him. Masato sits as stiffly as he can manage, spine ramrod straight. He feels like he’s being pitied.

“I am not so ill, Lord Ichinose,” he manages to say.

“Of course not,” Tokiya says. “A couple of days of rest, and you ought to be fit to return to your duties at home.”

Masaomi nods. “A couple of days, yes. Come, we shan’t impose on you any longer.”

Tokiya’s mouth is stretched into a smile. “Honestly, you Hijirikawas. Far too well-mannered for your own good. But I will insist that Masato stays here at least until the rain stops. I couldn’t possibly have it on my conscience if his illness were to get worse travelling back to the village.”

An edge of irritation is beginning to creep into his voice. It’s barely there, only just noticeable. Subtle enough that Masato could almost believe he’s trying to hide it.

Masaomi catches it too. “Then we shall humbly accept your kindness,” he says, bowing his head. “I’m sorry to have intruded upon you without warning.”

Tokiya nods. “It is a small matter,” he says. “I understand. You were concerned for your son.” He rises. “Ah. Tea,” he says.

Masaomi stands too. “If it’s not too much trouble, I will leave you to your tea,” he says. “I am sure you have more important things to do than to entertain me.”

Tokiya inclines his head. “Well then. Until the next time, Mayor Hijirikawa.” He opens the door and calls for a servant to show Masaomi out.

“Father,” Masato says, standing. “I’m sorry for missing work. I’ll catch up on everything as soon as I return.”

Masaomi nods. “I will have someone cover your duties until then,” he says.

Masato hesitates. “If I could trouble you,” he says. “Could you tell Mai that I will be home soon?”

Masaomi nods. “I will let her know,” he says.

“Thank you, Father,” Masato says. He dips his head. “Farewell.”

“Masato,” his father says. He bows. “Lord Ichinose.”

Tokiya has returned with one of the servants, who leads Masaomi away. The door swings shut behind him, and suddenly the room seems a little warmer.

Tokiya turns to Masato, and Masato finds himself squinting for some reason.

“Do you look different?” he blurts, and then his knees give out and he collapses back into his chair.

Tokiya raises his hands, hesitant, and approaches slowly. He kneels on the carpet by Masato’s feet before answering.

“It’s a trick,” he says. “Your father saw what he expected to see. You saw some of it too.”

Masato blinks. His head feels thick and slow, like he’s trying to think through syrup. “It’s - magic?” he asks.

“Of a kind,” Tokiya says. “Look at this room. Who would you expect to be in here?”

Masato looks around. The furniture is uncomfortable and austere. The portrait dominates. The wallpaper is dark.

“Ah, but of course, that doesn’t really matter right now,” Tokiya says. “Masato. May I carry you upstairs?”

“My ankle is fine,” Masato protests, but the fight has gone out of it. He has no idea what he was fighting them about. His father just turned around and  _ left,  _ and he wasn’t even angry when he went. He feels dizzy.

“I’m sure it will be,” Tokiya says. “But you are cold, and I wish to take you somewhere warm. May I?”

Masato forces himself to nod. When he stands up his legs are almost fine, but his head spins. Tokiya picks him up, cradles him close. Masato closes his eyes. The air whipping past is icy on his skin, but within moments they are in a warm room and Tokiya is still.

Masato opens his eyes. They are in a small room, a bright little fire burning in its hearth. Ren is sprawled across the low sofa, watching them with hooded eyes.

“Blanket?” he offers. There are several piled by the fire, and he gets up to take one. “Here.”

Tokiya sets him down while still taking most of his weight, and Ren moves in to wrap the blanket around him. For a moment he is pressed between the two of them, but then Ren leads him to the couch while Tokiya heads for the tea set on the table.

“You didn’t use this room before,” Masato says. “When you wanted me to play.”

Tokiya pours tea and begins fussing with it. He stirs in a spoonful of honey before adding a slice of lemon. “We were showing off,” he says. “The ballroom is far more dramatic.”

Masato lets out a tiny huff of laughter, surprising himself. Ren leans in and puts his chin on his shoulder as he drinks his tea. Tokiya sits at the piano and plays, a light melody at odds with the firelit room and the sound of the rain. It’s cosy. He’s safe.

They sit and listen to Tokiya play the piano for a long time. Ren eventually worms his way into Masato’s lap. He is heavy, but not unbearably so. He puts his arms around Masato’s neck and curls up so his head is pressed against Masato’s shoulder, and Masato hesitantly reaches out from beneath his blankets to wrap his arms around his waist.

Eventually, Ren’s breathing evens out, eyes having fluttered shut long ago. Masato barely dares to breathe for fear of disturbing him, and Tokiya stops playing when he realises.

“Lazy,” he admonishes, but his voice is so low and fond that he can’t possibly mean it. “But it is when we might usually sleep.”

Masato is horrified. “I don’t mean to keep you from sleeping,” he whispers. Ren stirs against him. Tokiya shakes his head.

“None of that,” he says. “We don’t need the rest.”

“Like hell we don’t,” Ren mumbles into Masato’s neck. His breath is strangely warm. “You hungry, Masa?”

Masato hesitates. He isn’t, but he would prefer to eat something anyway. “A little,” he settles on.

Ren sits up, sliding from Masato’s lap though his arms remain looped around his neck. He presses his forehead into Masato’s collarbone, seemingly falling asleep there too.

Tokiya smiles at the sight. “The disadvantages of being turned,” he says.

Ren finally peels himself from Masato’s lap and gets up to ring a bell set into the wall. Masato remembers the bells in the kitchen, and wonders if they are connected somehow.

“Here,” Tokiya says, offering him his hand. “If you wish to eat now, we can have the servants bring you something from their lunch, or else you can wait for them to make you something new.”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary at all,” Masato rushes to say. “There’s no need for them to go to the trouble.”

Tokiya holds his hand like he is escorting a princess. Masato feels a little ridiculous, but he does appreciate the opportunity to stretch his legs. The corridor he leads him down is warmer than the castle’s usual freezing halls, and the windows are covered with heavy drapes. This part of the castle is nothing like the open cloisters they like to use at night, and it is also very different from the drawing room and surrounding halls that they had received his father in this morning.

He follows Tokiya through the corridors and down a staircase to the drawing room. The plates have been cleared from breakfast and the fire is very low, but the room is still warm. Tokiya sits him on the couch before moving to build the fire back up.

“Ren is talking to George,” he tells Masato. “They will join us shortly.”

Masato hesitates. “You keep saying that Lord Jinguji needs more sleep than you,” he says. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”

Tokiya laughs. “No,” he says. “No, I don’t. Ren is not a natural vampire, and so still has some leftover human traits.”

“Leftover?” Masato asks. “A natural - was he human, once?”

“Yes, indeed,” Tokiya says. “He and I are a little different, and one of the ways is that he needs more sleep than I do. Ren needs to sleep every day, though not as much as a human might.”

“I see,” Masato says. He bites his tongue on the questions that well up at this new information - asking Tokiya seems akin to talking about Ren behind his back.

Tokiya sits beside him on the couch, but he doesn’t move to touch Masato. The walk from upstairs had roused him a little, but now sat in a warm room he finds himself tired again. He hopes they do not expect too much of him this afternoon.

Ren appears after a while, looking very amused. Tokiya eyes him with suspicion.

“What have you done?” he asks with a sigh. Ren fights back a grin.

“I, personally, have done nothing that was not explicitly discussed between the three of us,” he says.

“Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all,” Tokiya says.

“The cooks went overboard,” Ren says. “They heard Masato was staying for the afternoon, and are serving high tea.”

Tokiya also looks amused at this. Masato is lost.

“I see,” Tokiya says. “Well, I suppose we ought to praise their initiative.”

Ren laughs. He drapes himself against Masato, which pushes him into Tokiya, and reaches over to hold Tokiya’s hand in his lap.

Ren stays like this until they hear a knock at the door, at which point Tokiya pushes him upright. “Please leave Masato and I a little dignity,” he says. “At least in front of the servants.”

Ren laughs. “As you wish,” he says. “Come in!”

There are two maids pushing a trolley laden with far too much food for just him to eat. They set to work laying three places at the table and moving the food to the table. Masato sees dozens of tiny sandwiches, plates of cakes, fruit platters, a pot of tea - he has to look away after a moment. They work incredibly fast and are gone in less than a minute, taking the trolley with them. Tokiya picks him up and carries him to his seat.

“Help yourself,” Ren says, before he can ask for permission to start. “The servants will eat whatever you leave, so don’t worry about wasting food.”

“I see,” Masato says. “Thank you.”

He puts one of every kind of sandwich on his plate, and a single slice of cake that appears to be lavender. He pours himself tea.

He looks at his teacup. “Do you eat at all?” he asks. He’s sure he remembers them eating, that first night.

“We can,” Tokiya says. “There’s not much point though.”

“Au contraire,” Ren says. “The taste is enough.”

Tokiya wrinkles his nose delicately. “Another one of Ren’s leftover human traits. He still enjoys the taste, or so he tells himself.”

“Ah, is that what you were talking about?” Ren asks. “Yes, I’m a little more human than Icchi is.”

“Masato wondered if I had a sleeping problem,” Tokiya explains dryly. “I explained that you are the anomaly, not me.”

Ren snickers. “Of course, of course.”

They continue to bicker as Masato eats. It’s obviously a pastime of theirs - their words are well-worn and lack any bite, despite being insults.

The sandwiches are delicious, though he cannot finish even the ones on his plate, but the lavender cake is too sweet for his tastes. He tries another one, which is far less cloying, and finds he likes that one more.

“I don’t recognise this one,” he says. “Do you know what it is?”

Ren leans in and bites the piece out of his hand. “Coffee,” he says. “Have you ever had coffee, Masato?”

“No,” Masato says. “I have never had the opportunity.”

“A shame,” Ren says. “Icchi’s very fond of coffee, actually. One of the only things he will eat.”

“It is an acquired taste,” Tokiya says. “But perhaps we can introduce you to some of its varieties. I have been meaning to visit the capital.”

Ren wrinkles his nose. “I’m not coming,” he says.

“That’s fine,” Tokiya says mildly. “I just thought I should let you know.”

Masato finishes his tea. He knows little about teas, but he does like the mild, slightly bitter flavour of the one they usually serve him. He sets his teacup back onto its saucer with a delicate clink.

Immediately Ren is draped across him, heavy on his shoulder. Their chairs are too far apart for this to possibly be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Masato, I’m tired,” he whines. “Icchi makes fun of me, but I can’t help it. I just want to sleep.”

Masato makes the conscious decision to reach up and pat his head. He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he does. Ren’s hair is soft and silky beneath his hand.

“There, there,” he says. Tokiya has a hand raised to his mouth, is clearly snickering behind it. “Hush now.”

If he pretends he is teasing, it is somehow easier. He doesn’t know how he dares to be so bold but it - it’s - it’s  _ fun. _

Ren wriggles in closer, lays his head on Masato’s shoulder and pretends to fall asleep there. Tokiya lets out an amused sigh.

“Poor Ren,” he says, with the least sincere pity Masato has ever heard. “Deprived of sleep by such bullies.”

“Mm,” Ren hums. “Lord Ichinose is so much stronger than me. I’m so weak and frail to need so much sleep.”

Masato is perfectly aware of what he’s doing. He weighs up his options, and decides that despite having done next to nothing this morning, he is tired enough to want the rest Ren is offering.

“Lord Ichinose is too strong for the both of us,” Masato agrees, still stroking Ren’s hair. “But perhaps if we ask very nicely, he will indulge our lazy habits and come rest with us.”

Tokiya’s eyes are sparkling with delight. “Well, I am very busy,” he says. “But as you are both clearly so in need of my company, I suppose I could be persuaded.”

“We are deeply grateful for your kindness,” Masato says, bowing his head. Tokiya sighs deeply, still smiling, and stands up.

“We had better hurry,” he says. “If we don’t, Ren may fall asleep on us here.”

Ren lets out an exaggerated yawn against Masato’s neck. It tickles. Masato raises his arms, gently pushing him upright. When he refuses to go, Tokiya strides over and picks him up, slinging him over his shoulder with no effort at all. Masato has a very strange reaction to the display, and has to swallow before he stands and accepts the arm Tokiya is offering. He tucks his hand into the crook of Tokiya’s elbow and allows him to lead him upstairs.

“Honestly, Ren, you’re absolutely terrible,” Tokiya scolds. “Masato is the one with the twisted ankle, and yet you insist on being carried.”

“I didn’t insist on anything,” Ren insists. He sounds far too smug to be convincing.

Despite his apparent disdain for the whole thing, Tokiya still lowers Ren onto their bed gently. He helps Masato out of his outer jacket and vest, before leaving the two of them there to undress themselves as he tends to the fire. Masato strips and pulls on the nightgown he wore last night, still draped over the end of the bed where Ren left it this morning. When Ren holds his arms out, making a sad, sleepy, noise, Masato barely even feels the urge to hesitate before climbing into his lap.

“Lie down, Ren,” Tokiya orders. “Honestly.”

Ren shifts back and lies them down. Masato is a little colder than he’d like, but the fire is beginning to have an effect and the room is starting to warm up. He sits up to draw the curtains around them, leaving only the side facing the fire open.

Tokiya joins them a moment later, having changed into nightclothes faster than Masato could follow. He slips under the covers with them, and pulls an extra blanket up to cover them before wrapping his arms around Masato’s waist. He presses his nose to the back of Masato’s head.

Tokiya’s lips are soft and cool, pressing lazy open-mouthed kisses to the back of his neck, the top of his spine. Masato shivers a little. Ren nestles closer to him at the movement, burying his face in Masato’s chest.

“Rest, Masato,” Tokiya says. The sound hums against his skin. “We’ll wake you if you sleep too long.”

Tokiya’s voice is lower than usual, a little throaty. If he was trying, Masato thinks he could sound unimaginably filthy using that voice, but it’s soothing instead.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Will you sleep?”

Tokiya pauses. “I will,” he says.

“Then sleep well, Lord Ichinose,” Masato murmurs into the top of Ren’s head. “You too, Lord Jinguji.”

Ren is already asleep. Masato gladly follows.

**Author's Note:**

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